


Absolution

by wingsdestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Bisexual Dean, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Charlie Ships It, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Gray Ace Castiel, Grey-Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Happy Ending, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Ships It, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsdestiel/pseuds/wingsdestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas go on a case together, and finally come to terms with their feelings for one another. Meanwhile, Charlie tries to help Sam find a cure for his post-trials illness. Season 8 canon divergent. Alternating POVs between Sam, Dean, and Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicgirlsara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicgirlsara/gifts).



Sam Winchester shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding eye contact with the angel who was gazing at him intently from across the table. The fluorescent lights in the Men of Letters’ bunker made Sam’s head hurt, but evidently had no effect on Castiel.

“Cas, I thought we talked about the staring contests.”

Castiel lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I was trying to gauge your emotional state by observing your body language.”

Sam hesitated, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to his question. “Why?”

“I am still confused by human emotions. They are erratic. Your reaction to my…” He paused, searching for the right phrase. “…error in judgment… has been very different from Dean’s.”

Sam thought about his brother, who had locked himself in his bedroom with a bottle of hard liquor after a heated– well, from his side, anyway– exchange with Cas over his betrayal. There had been a lot of finger pointing and shouting about the tablets, but Sam knew what this was really about. Cas had chosen heaven over Dean, and Dean was not just angry, he was wounded.

“Look, I’m not happy with you either,” Sam said honestly, and Cas hung his head. “But Dean and I, we tend to see things a little differently. I think sometimes he forgets how new all of this is for you, and that you have… other priorities.”

Cas’ head snapped up. “The safety of you and Dean is my top priority. Anything that happened to suggest otherwise was simply a miscalculation on my part. And for that I apologize.”

“I know,” Sam said, forcing some reassurance into his voice. “It’s just that Dean doesn’t care about intentions as much as he cares about the outcome. Sometimes an apology just doesn’t cut it.”

Castiel’s forehead seemed to furrow even more as he contemplated this. He looked up after a moment. “Thank you for your help, Sam. I take it as a gesture of friendship.”

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that Cas meant no harm by that remark, but the third wheel status was starting to irk him. Every time he witnessed interactions between his brother and the angel, he began to feel more and more like a minor character in their trashy romance novel.

Oh yes, Sam knew. He had known Dean all his life. He knew whether or not to break down a door based on the slightest look from him, he knew that the quick slide from carelessness to full-blown depression happened somewhere between beer number three and four, and he knew how he mouthed the lyrics to the songs he played on the car stereo when he thought Sam was asleep. If Dean really thought that his little brother didn’t know about his feelings for Cas, he was kidding himself.

Besides, the pure energy that radiated between them was impossible to ignore. Sam used to think that was just a romanticized movie thing, but that was before he found himself in a room with it. After all he had seen in years of hunting, it was maddening that there was something he truly couldn’t explain. Sometimes when Dean and Cas spoke, Sam could see their bodies drifting towards each other until one of them broke eye contact. It was like a storm that could never quite get started.

Sam was glad it hadn’t. He had plenty of reasons to believe that Cas, good intentions aside, would continue to disappoint Dean in ways that could never be repaired, in ways that echoed the disappointment they felt about their own father. Dean had been neglected and abandoned too many times already. Sam knew it must have torn him apart to be discarded once again, pushed aside for the constant war that was waging around him. But Dean would never let them see his pain, so he locked himself away to drink once again. Sam’s heart ached for his brother, who had followed their father’s demand for apathy so dutifully that he now had repression down to an art form. Dean was raised to approach emotion as an enemy, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

Sam’s train of thought was broken when Castiel suddenly rose from his chair, which made a horrible screeching sound against the floor. “Sorry,” Cas said. “I know that cannot have helped your headache.”

“My head’s fine,” Sam lied. The trials were giving him a really special kind of illness, one he could only describe as ‘the flu on meth.’

“What can I do to help you feel better?” Cas asked, tilting his head to the side. “I’m not familiar with medical antidotes to human ailments.”

“I don’t think this is something an aspirin can fix, Cas,” Sam replied, giving in and rubbing his temples. “But if you want to be helpful, you can go get Dean some pie.” He slid a hand into his pocket, pulled out a crinkled ten, and slid it across the table to where Cas was still standing.

“Pie,” Cas repeated, and Sam knew he was confused.

“He might not forgive you today, but it’ll get you a few points. It’ll be like… a gesture of friendship.”

Castiel picked up the bill and put it in his coat pocket, but his expression remained the same. “Before I go, Sam, can I ask one more question?”

Sam shrugged, nodding.

“I think there may be… something wrong with my vessel.”

Sam cleared his throat and leaned forward, genuinely concerned. “Why do you think that?”

“There is a burning sensation in my upper digestive tract, and I am finding it hard to concentrate.” He paused, as if he was waiting for Sam to diagnose him. “My body feels as though it wants to move, although I have not instructed it to do so.”

“Sounds like you’re anxious, Cas.”

Castiel seemed to consider this. “Anxiety is a human response to impending dangerous circumstances,” he said flatly. “But nothing is currently going wrong.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. He could think of at least fifteen things that were currently going wrong.

“You appear to be in stable condition,” Cas said. “Dean is not in any immediate danger. The chances of us being detected in this building are considerably low. Even if I were to leave to obtain the dessert item you requested, the risk level for me is minimal.”

Sam thought about telling Cas he was fine and sending him away, but as usual the look of confusion on the angel’s face tugged on his heart. Cursing his abnormally strong empathetic response, he sighed. “Sometimes people get anxious when they’re not sure how something’s going to turn out.”

“Events of the future are constantly— ” Cas started to interrupt, but Sam held up a hand and, somewhat surprisingly, he fell silent.

Sam had to choose his words carefully in order to avoid a discussion he was not ready to have. “Dean is… very important to you. You’ve done something that upset him, and now you’re not sure if you’ll be able to regain his trust. You’re afraid…” Sam trailed off, not sure if he should finish the sentence.

Castiel finished it for him. “Of losing Dean.” He looked at the floor. “What do people do when they are anxious?”

“Honestly, sometimes you just have to… do stuff. Go for a run, make something, stuff like that. For you, maybe it would help to go work some miracles. Small ones, though,” he added. “Don’t attract attention.”

Cas nodded. “But first I will purchase the pie.”

Before Sam could respond, there was the familiar whooshing sound of wings, and he was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam stood awkwardly outside Dean’s bedroom door, listening to the muffled sounds of what he thought was Anthrax blasting from laptop speakers. He took a deep breath and knocked, and allowed himself a moment of panic when there was no response. Dean’s constant alcohol abuse paired with his horrific diet and lifelong shortage on sleep was not exactly ideal, even for an otherwise healthy thirty-year-old. An even more disturbing possibility passed through his mind as he pictured his brother with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, finally free from his responsibilities, fear of inadequacy, and internalized homophobia…

Sam opened the door and met eyes with Dean, who was lying upside down over the side of the bed, whiskey bottle in hand.

“Thought maybe if I didn’t say anything you would go away,” he half-mumbled, half-slurred, reaching across his body to shut off the music that was coming from his computer.

“Dean, I want to talk to you.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, well, does this look like a shrink’s office to you?”

Sam felt a pang in his chest at the Bobby-esque reply. He shut the bedroom door behind him. “Will you cut the crap? I’m serious.”

“Yeah, you know, that’s your problem, Sammy. You’re too serious.” He swung the bottle around for emphasis. “I mean, for all we know, you could be dead tomorrow. And yet _I’m_ the one drinking.”

Sam’s stomach lurched. It wasn’t so much a fear of death (although the prospect was not particularly appealing), it was the thought of leaving Dean alone in this mess. He would be alone with the burden of closing The Gates, but also alone with himself. The latter was what Sam worried would have the most disastrous consequences. He had no doubt that Dean was capable of completing the trials without him, but with no demons to chase and no Sam to protect, his brother would likely lose what little sense of self he had. Sure, Dean had lived for a year without him once before, but during that time he had a stable relationship and appearances to keep up. Since he had Lisa’s memory erased he had become even more reckless and hardened than Sam had thought possible. He knew it must be, consciously or not, to cover up the broken and vulnerable parts of himself he couldn’t fix.

“If you really think I could die tomorrow, then listen to me.” Sam spoke in an especially commanding tone to avoid sounding like he was begging.

Dean sat up and put the bottle down on the nightstand. He appeared to have magically sobered up. Sam wondered briefly if he had been playing up his drunkenness before or if Dean was really ready to have this talk.

“Alright,” Dean said, indicating for Sam to sit on the bed beside him. “You might as well be comfortable for your own lecture.”

Sam sat down and swallowed hard to kill the cough that was aching to rip through him. Coughing up blood would give Dean an excuse to change the subject. He cleared his throat, ignoring the searing pain in his tonsils. “I’ll make this quick,” he promised. “I know that what Cas did was pretty unforgivable, but you need to put it aside, at least for now. We have a situation on our hands”– _as usual_ , he thought to himself– “and we need to be at the top of our game.”

“No, no, no. Cas does not get a free pass on this.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you need to find a way to be angry and functional at the same time.”

Dean looked at him in disbelief. “Dude. I’m _always_ angry. Hell, I got a lot to be angry about. I drink. We hunt. We don’t talk about it. That’s how this works.”

“Well, call it a dying wish, but I need you to talk about it.” Sam turned his shoulders to face his brother properly. He was surprised to see that Dean was looking down, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced and supporting the bridge of his nose. This posture was a rare sight and told Sam that Dean was actually considering his request. He thought about saying more, but decided to wait for Dean to process whatever was going on in his head.

“Cas pulled me out of hell,” Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “I know.”

“I think maybe when he did, something… happened to me.”

Sam frowned. “Like what?”

Dean hesitated, fidgeting. Sam hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. “Well you know, it’s like he says, we have a bond.”

Sam had a feeling he knew where this was going, but it had to be Dean’s decision. So he played dumb. “Yeah, so?”

“I don’t know. It just feels worse to me when he pulls shit like this. I guess I feel like I’m supposed to be important to him, you know?” When Sam didn’t respond quickly enough, Dean seemed to rethink his words. “Never mind. That’s stupid. He has a whole heaven full of angel-douches to worry about.”

“It’s not stupid, Dean,” Sam said. “You _are_ important to him. He’s been pacing around for hours trying to figure out how to fix this.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel very important.”

Sam continued to have an internal battle over the direction in which this conversation was heading. He really did want Dean to be honest with him, and he really did want to have this discussion at some point. There was just too much on their plate right now to be dealing with a huge, potentially stressful talk. Dean was clearly not at his best, and any tiny miscommunication could drive a wedge between them. But seeing as there was already a severed line between Dean and Cas, Sam thought he would take his chances at helping repair it.

“Dean, Cas is having anxiety problems.”

Dean tried to disguise the motion of his head snapping up as a random twitch (although Sam caught it). “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. I think it’s just normal anxiety, because you’re mad at him.”

“You think it’s because of _me_?”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Sam to tolerate Dean’s obliviousness. “C’mon, Dean. He adores you. Besides,” he added, “he needs you to help him navigate. Without you, he’s completely clueless.”

“Did you just say he ‘adores’ me?” Dean said incredulously. What, like I’m some kind of pet or something?”

“No, Dean. He looks up to you. If anyone’s the puppy, he is.”

Dean’s mouth formed a subtle smirk, an expression he quickly replaced with anger. “He hasn’t been very good with the whole loyalty thing, for a puppy. Or coming when he’s called.”

Sam was thinking of a good way to get the conversation back on track when they both heard the somewhat muffled sound of wings. They looked at each other for a brief moment, then got up and opened the door. They walked the length of the hallway with matching strides, exchanging a concerned look when the sound of wings came again, and this time faded. They reached the main room and were instantly hit with the pleasant smell of baked goods.

The table in the center of the bunker appeared to be completely covered in different varieties of pie, each with a handwritten label underneath. Sam scanned them, and his eyes widened. Key Lime from Chicago, IL. Lemon from Durham, NC. Caramel Apple from Portland, OR. Four Berry from Ann Arbor, MI.

Dean interrupted his reading. “I’m sorry, does that say _Cheddar Bacon Apple_?”

Sam looked to where Dean was pointing and nodded, just as speechless as his brother.

Dean’s frown intensified as something else seemed to catch his eye. He slowly moved to the other side of the table, apparently terrified of whatever he was approaching. When Sam saw what it was Dean was looking at, he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing.

“Well,” Sam said, grinning. “Like I said, you have an admirer.”

Dean picked up the yellow rose and blinked in disbelief.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean seemed to be attempting to say something, but only a low croaking sound came from his open mouth as he turned the rose over between his fingers. He finally looked up at Sam, and managed to lift his empty hand to gesture at the pie-covered table.

“Dean, it’s okay,” Sam said gently, raising his eyebrows in concern. He knew that Dean would have a difficult time accepting the reality of Cas’ obvious feelings for him, but he had no idea that it would leave him completely unable to speak, as that was not a typical thing for Dean.

“No, it’s not,” Dean said, but all the usual forcefulness and certainty was gone from his voice. “What’s he playing at?” He cleared his throat and threw his shoulders back as if to jolt the masculinity back into his system. “I mean, does he really think that he can just give me some pie and everything will be fine?”

“Well, he clearly did quite a bit of traveling to get all of this set up…”

“That doesn’t count. _He has mojo!_ ” Dean sounded like a child who had just lost a board game.

“Would it really make any difference to you if he walked?” Sam asked, trying and failing to mask his annoyance.

“Maybe,” Dean muttered, and Sam let out an exasperated sigh.

“Okay,” Sam said, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and throwing himself down into it. “Sit down.” He gestured to the chair closest to Dean.

Dean’s expression made it very clear that he did not like to be bossed around by his little brother, but he sat down anyway, and set the rose back on the table.

“Do you like Cas?” Sam said bluntly.

Dean’s reaction was something similar to what Sam had expected, fabricated shock and indignation so physically dramatic that it made everything that much more obvious. “What? No!”

“Okay, you can lie if you want, but I’m going to pretend that you just said yes.” Sam ignored Dean’s look of contempt. “I know it’s complicated, because he’s an angel, but there’s nobody in this world more stubborn than you two, so I’m sure you can work something out.”

“You’re leaving out the part where he’s a dude.” Dean said this in his usual tone of voice, but something in his eyes had softened into something Sam couldn’t quite name. It reminded him of when they were kids, and Dean would lie to him about their dad being back in time for dinner. It wasn’t guilt, exactly, but it held the same kind of worry, the same kind of fear of being a disappointment.

“Dean, it’s not a big deal if–– ”

“I’m not gay, Sam. Jesus.”

“I never said you were,” Sam said, holding up his hands. “I mean clearly, you like chicks. I don’t doubt it.”

“So, what, you think I’m one of those–– one of those––”

“Bisexuals? Maybe.” Sam shrugged to emphasize his indifference.

Dean’s face contorted into something close to disgust. “No, I don’t do that, man. I tried that kind of thing before, and it wasn’t for me.”

Sam frowned. “What kind of thing?”

“You know,” Dean said, obviously irritated that he had to elaborate. He lowered his voice, as if there was anyone within hearing distance. “Threesomes.”

Sam laughed. “You don’t have to like threesomes, Dean. That’s not what bisexual means.”

“Yeah, and what makes you the expert?” Dean’s expression twisted again when he saw the smirk on his brother’s face. “You’re not…”

Sam chuckled. “No, not me. It was Jess, actually. When she told me, I thought she was asking for a threesome, but I guess that’s not a common requirement.” Sam tried not to let the sharp pain in his chest come through on his face as he said her name. Sometimes he forgot about how fresh the grief still felt, how the wounds could still rip wide open in a second.

Dean’s eyes drifted to the floor, though Sam was unsure if it was due to the subject matter of their overall conversation or his mention of Jess. Neither brother spoke for a moment.

Dean cleared his throat. “So… let’s say for a minute, hypothetically, that Cas has a, uh, _thing_ for me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Sam fought back the urge to reply with innuendo. “You tell him how you feel.”

Dean looked at him blankly, waiting for more instructions.

“And since you’re apparently not going to tell me, I can’t help you with that part,” Sam added, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Dean’s jaw clenched, his hands in fists by his sides. “Alright,” he practically growled. “You’re right.”

“So you like him,” Sam said, partially for clarification and partially to rub it in.

“Yeah, whatever. I like him. Don’t be a bitch about it.”

Sam bit the inside of his mouth to stifle his oncoming grin into an only slightly more reserved smile.

“Sam, I swear to God, if you keep gloating––”

He was interrupted by the whooshing sound of wings, and Cas appeared next to him. “Hello, Dean.” After a moment of prolonged eye contact the angel seemed to notice Sam was in the room. “Hello, Sam. Thank you for the advice. I am feeling much better now.”

“That’s great, Cas,” Sam said awkwardly, unsure if he was supposed to leave the room at this point. His eyes shifted to meet his brother’s, who gave him a glare to communicate that he should stay.

“I see you’ve discovered my gifts,” Cas said, turning back to Dean. “I understand that they may not warrant immediate forgiveness, but I hope they illustrate my intentions.”

Sam could’ve sworn he heard Castiel’s voice quiver slightly.

Dean gaped at the angel and let out a nervous laugh. “Well you certainly know how to con me.”

Cas’ brow furrowed. “I assure you that this was not an attempt to deceive you in any way.”

Dean sighed. “No, that’s not–- I meant you made a good call with the pie, Cas. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean gave Sam a sideways glance that was probably supposed to be subtle, and Sam knew he was looking for direction. Sam met his brother’s eyes and then looked pointedly at the rose, hoping that Dean would take the hint and thank Cas for that as well.

What with Cas’ complete lack of ability to respond to social queues, they sometimes forgot that he was still quite observant. He looked back and forth between the two brothers questioningly. “I see you’ve also noticed my other offering.”

Dean looked pale, and if Sam hadn’t been legitimately worried that his brother might puke, he would have found it funny. Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, thanks, dude, but guys don’t really give each other flowers, you know?”

Cas frowned. “My research indicated that yellow roses signify friendship to humans. I was simply trying to express that sentiment.”

Sam, against his better judgment, stepped in. “They do. They do signify friendship.” His contribution was met with a dirty look from Dean.

“I do not understand,” Cas said. “Why do you find it unacceptable for a male to present another male with a section of an angiosperm organism?”

“Fancy word for flower,” Sam explained before Dean could ask.

Dean looked back and forth between the angel and his brother, like if he killed some time, they would forget that Cas had asked him a question. Sam cleared his throat.

“Dean,” Cas started.

“Because it’s gay!” Dean shouted. The room was eerily silent once his voice stopped reverberating. He looked down, embarrassed by his outburst.

Cas was suddenly very interested in the cement floor, studying the imperfections with his usual stoic expression. But Sam thought he saw the gleam of tears in the angel’s eyes.

Sam’s entire being seemed to protest his presence in the room, and he felt a rush of adrenaline stronger than the ones he normally felt on hunts. He instinctively glanced at the staircase, planning his escape. This was a conversation that Dean and Cas needed to have alone. Just because Dean had the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old didn’t mean that he had to pick up the slack. If Dean was in the middle of a vampire nest, Sam would sure as hell go in after him, but this was something entirely different. He knew he had to stay out of the line of fire, especially if he was going to stay strong enough to complete the trials. He imagined being ripped apart by hellhounds or having a heart attack from all the stress on his body while his brother and his friend argued about their feelings. No, he couldn’t ref this one. He had to sit it out. He would let Dean and Cas hash it out alone, and try to be there for each of them during the aftermath. This wasn’t going to go well, and although the best-case scenario might involve his brother being truly happy, the worst-case scenario involved pissing off an angel who already had some serious attitude problems.

“I think you two should talk,” Sam said, pushing his chair back and standing up. He gripped the table to keep from falling over and hoped that his difficulty standing would go unnoticed for the time being. “I’ll be in my room.”

Sam walked slowly to the staircase, being careful that his limp would not be visible. He gripped the banister for support and began the painful journey to the second floor, looking back to see Cas still fixated on the floor and Dean holding his head in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulled his hands away from his face after a very long, uncomfortable silence. His heart pounded against his ribcage, and he could feel his pulse in his temple and fingertips. The position of his chair, parallel to the table and facing the place where Castiel was still standing, made it difficult to hide his discomfort. As he folded his arms across his chest, he felt that his shirt was damp from sweat. _This isn’t happening. Cas isn’t a confrontational kinda guy, not unless he’s provoked. He’ll teleport outta here, and he won’t bring it up. I don’t wanna talk about this now. I don’t wanna talk about this ever._

Cas seemed to be picking up on Dean’s internal monologue, because he tilted his head and did the thing where he squinted his eyes a little. Dean sometimes wondered if Cas had any idea how exaggerated and easy to read his body language was. The squinting thing looked ridiculous, but even Dean had to admit that head tilting was kind of adorable.

  _NO. We’re not going there. Not now. Focus, man. Speak._

“Cas, buddy, I’m sorry I yelled. Things are just really crazy right now.” As Dean spoke, Castiel finally looked up from the floor and met his eyes. He had to stop himself from looking away from the intensity that the angel always managed to convey with his eye contact.

“I understand, Dean,” Cas said. “I am sorry for making you uncomfortable.” His tone was sincere, but there was still pain and confusion in his expression that made something in Dean’s stomach tighten.

“I still shouldn’t have yelled at you. This is all… really nice,” Dean said, gesturing at the table. His mouth was dry, which made him stumble over his words even more than usual, and he looked down again.

“Dean,” Cas said, and it was a statement all in itself. It did not ask for his attention, it demanded it. Dean looked up nervously, and the blood surged through his body, maybe because he was uncomfortable, or maybe for reasons he was much too afraid to consider. “You are a good man. I trust no one’s judgment more than yours.” Dean scoffed at this, but Cas ignored him. “I look to you for insight into human reasoning, because it is often arbitrary. For instance, I know that I am obligated to say ‘no offense’ after making such a statement about your species, even though I am certain that you are aware of its validity. This does not make sense to me, but as I am spending time in your company it would seem impolite to disregard it.”

He paused as though waiting for a reaction. Dean wasn’t sure where this was going, so he could not provide one.

Cas continued. “I have been confused by your behavior recently, and now you have just had another confusing reaction to my apology. I am trying to understand. Why are you ashamed to speak about your attraction to other males?”

Dean choked on air, and tried to cover it up as a normal cough. “I’m not gay, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyebrows knitted together. “That is not what I said.”

“Jesus, not you too. I’ve already gotten this talk from my brother. I don’t need one from my friend.”

A smirk appeared on the angel’s lips. “So we are friends again.” It was a statement, not a question.

Dean readjusted his arms, folding them more tightly across his chest. The lump in his throat continued to grow, and his mouth felt like a forest of cotton balls. Cas was happy to know that they were still friends. Happy enough to smirk. Dean tried to smile, but it was more from nervousness than amusement. “Cas, you’re family. You’re supposed to piss me off.”

“Well, I’ve certainly done a good job of that,” Cas replied, and smiled wider.

Humor? Castiel was just full of surprises today. And that crooked smile was killer, and he just wanted to – _No, we’re not doing this._ He looked down, avoiding eye contact at all costs. He couldn’t look at that angled jaw and the dark stubble that grew there, couldn’t wonder what it would feel like rubbing against his face, his neck, his thigh. _This is wrong. This is so wrong._

“Dean? Are you alright?” Castiel approached the hunter and put his hand on his shoulder.

The touch was so gentle he could barely feel it through his shirtsleeve, but it sent electric currents pulsing through his body. Cas’ hand was perfectly aligned with the where his handprint used to be, before it healed. But even now, when Cas touched that spot, it was as if Dean’s flesh remembered him, and the skin tingled in a cool burn. It felt like stepping into a warm room after hours in the cold.

Dean willed himself not to look up, but he couldn’t resist the pull. He met the unbelievable blue of his angel’s eyes– _his_ angel– and his resolve crumbled. “You stupid bastard,” Dean mumbled almost inaudibly, and stood up. He could see in Cas’ face that he was afraid he was going to storm off, and the hand on his shoulder started to slide away. He reached up to stop it, covering Cas’ hand with his own. He looked down at their hands, studying the subtle difference in their skin tones and feeling the contrast between the smoothness of Cas’ hands and his own callous-riddled palms. He closed his fingers around Cas’ hand and pulled it down to their sides, threading their fingers together. Cas’ eyes widened, his pupils dilated. Dean licked his lips.

He moved in slowly, dipping his head and pressing their lips together. It was chaste at first, but soon his right hand was cupped around Castiel’s neck, pulling him closer, and their lips moved with more insistence. When they finally pulled apart, they were both panting.

Dean was surprised to find that he didn’t feel guilty. At least, not for the kiss. Only for waiting so long to give in. He had enough to worry about without spending every waking moment trying to force himself back into denial. He knew how he felt about Castiel, and he had for a long time, but knowing something and coming to terms with it were two very different things.

“I’m confusing you even more, aren’t I?”

“I, uh…” Cas began. Dean had to admit, it was hugely satisfying to see an Angel of the Lord trip on his words like that. “You have given me mixed signals, yes.”

“I’ve had mixed feelings.”

“Because you are uncomfortable with my gender?”

“That’s only part of it, Cas. You’re an _angel_.”

To Dean’s surprise, Castiel chuckled. “You’re not concerned about corrupting me, are you?”

“Your dad’s not too big on the whole gay thing, Cas.”

“He was misquoted. Besides, have I not made it clear where my loyalties lie? I have been rebelling against heaven for you for years. This is no different.”

Dean’s eyes were dangerously close to watering, and he blinked repeatedly. “So whatever this is… I’m not alone in it?”

Castiel extended his arm slowly and reached for Dean’s face. He paused, tilting his head to ask for permission, and Dean nodded. His fingers rubbed along Dean’s jaw, moving his thumb in soothing circles until he reached the back of his head. Dean closed his eyes. Cas pulled him forward and down slightly so that their foreheads were touching.

Dean couldn’t help but gasp as light exploded behind his eyelids, and his system was flooded with every sensation he had ever known and several he couldn’t even begin to name. He saw himself being pulled from his chains in the pit, carried in Castiel’s arms. He saw himself and his brother passed out on motel beds, Cas watching from by the window. He saw himself in purgatory fighting off a vamp, and felt a surge of terror he knew did not belong to him. What seemed like hundreds of memories erupted into his mind, and through all of them he felt a commonality, a feeling of almost violent protectiveness paired with unconditional affection.

When Cas pulled his forehead away, Dean was jolted back into reality, and his face was streaked with tears that he didn’t realize he had been crying. Embarrassment washed over him, but he was still too stunned to move. Cas wiped his tears away gently and hushed him. “I’m sorry if that was overwhelming. I just wanted to answer your question as directly as possible.”

Dean tried to clear his throat, but a choked sob overtook him instead. Somewhere inside he felt humiliated, but that was nothing compared to everything else he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeated, and his usual gravelly voice broke. He seemed to think Dean was in pain, so Dean shook his head and took the angel’s hand, holding it to his chest. Their fingers lined up, and he pressed Cas’ palm over his heart. He wasn’t good with words, but he hoped this would be easy enough to understand.

Castiel’s expression melted into a mix of relief and euphoria, and Dean heard the sound of wings. For just an instant he thought Cas was gone, but soon he realized that he had just teleported them to Dean’s bedroom. Dean was lying on his side on the bed, and Cas was sitting next to him.

For most of his life, Dean had not known the feeling of safety. Every waking moment was laced with anxiety, and even when he slept he would jerk awake at the slightest sound or movement, ready to fight. Safety was an illusion, one that he and his brother worked to uphold for everyone else. He couldn’t count the number of times he had told someone, _It’s okay, you’re safe now_ , but he didn’t even know what _safe_ meant. It was just an abstraction, a promise he always made and risked his life to keep. _We’ll keep you safe. We’ll keep your family safe._ But Dean Winchester didn’t know _safe_ , he only knew sleeping with a 9 mm pistol under his pillow. He only knew flying under the radar and assuming that everyone is a liar.

But now Dean understood safe. His brief look into Castiel’s mind showed him that he was protected, guarded with such ferocity and intensity that he felt it in his bones.

Dean’s sobs faded, becoming erratic breaths punctuated by whimpers that would have mortified him had he been in his right mind. The angel said nothing for a long time. He just sat beside him and rubbed his arm soothingly. Finally, when Dean’s breathing returned to normal, Cas whispered, “Sleep. I’ll watch over you.” He wiped the remaining tears from Dean’s face with the back of his right hand.

The other was still splayed out over Dean’s heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean woke up on his back, still in his clothes. Although he would never admit it, he was disappointed when he reached out and felt the empty space on the other side of his bed. Cas hadn’t stayed. He retracted his arm and rubbed his eyes, which made gross squishing noises as he pressed on them. He could feel that they were still swollen and tender from falling asleep crying.

He waited for his vision to adjust and looked at his watch, which had left angry marks on his wrist from digging into his skin as he slept. It was ten-thirty already. That was one of the many irritating things about the bunker; it was impossible to tell what time it was because there were no windows. He could hear the sound of clattering dishes from the kitchen. Sam had gotten into the habit of making breakfast when he felt up to it, and clearly he felt okay this morning, as he was whistling, too.

Dean groaned and slid out of bed. His back cracked as he stood up, and he winced. He was too young for this. He was technically in great shape, what with the whole constantly running and fighting for his life thing, but recently he could feel his body aging prematurely from years of stress and abuse. Cas said he had to rebuild Dean completely after pulling him out of the pit, but Dean often wondered if his decades in hell somehow still affected him physically. He never told Sammy, but sometimes on hunts he would feel his joints grinding together and have to slow down. Now certainly wasn’t the time to bring it up, because Sam had his own problems. Besides, he would probably give Dean another lecture on the benefits of healthy eating habits.

In the bathroom he washed his face with cold water. He tried to avoid looking in the mirror, but inevitably he caught his reflection and was forced to meet his own gaze. For someone so ashamed of crying, he had done quite a bit of it in his lifetime, and the sight of his own reddened, puffy eyes was all too familiar. Sighing, he gripped the sides of the sink with both hands and moved his head in a slow circle as his neck let out a series of muffled cracks. He brushed his teeth facing away from the mirror, threw on some clean clothes, then made his way to the kitchen.

Sam was visibly better today, his movements more fluid and his shoulders pushed back in his characteristic self-assured posture as he flipped over an egg in a frying pan. Lately he had been wearing sweatpants all day, but now he was in his usual plaid flannel and jeans. Dean smiled to himself, glad to see that Sammy was bouncing back, and shuffled over to him. He tucked in the label that was sticking out of the back of Sam’s shirt and patted him on the shoulder on his way to the table.

“You slept in today,” Sam said.

“Yep.”

“You feeling okay?”

“Yep. You?” Dean sat down at the table.

“Yeah, I feel pretty good, actually. Scrambled or over easy?”

“Over easy. Got any bacon?”

Sam turned around to hand Dean a plate of bacon with paper towels in between layers to soak up the extra grease. Dean grinned and started on his first piece. Sam shook his head and turned back to the stove.

Dean picked up the newspaper that was laid open on the table. He scanned the headlines for anything unusual, even though he knew they couldn’t hunt with Sam in his condition. He was doing better for now, but it would be too big a risk to put more stress on his system. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he turned a few pages and started reading the comics.

 Sam slid a plate over to Dean with two eggs and a piece of toast, already buttered. Dean raised his eyebrows. “What’s the occasion, Suzy Homemaker?”

Sam put down two mugs of coffee and sat down across from Dean with his own plate before taking a bite of toast. He shrugged. “Just felt like doing something productive. Besides, I didn’t want you eating a bunch of that pie for breakfast.”

Dean continued to eye his brother with suspicion as he cut into his eggs. The yolks ran and he scraped at them with the edge of his fork. The refrigerator hummed.

“So, how’d it go with Cas?” Sam’s expression was a classic attempt at being casual. Dean shot him a look just so he would know he wasn’t buying it.

“Fine,” Dean said. “Have you seen him?”

Sam shook his head. “He must’ve left before I got up.”

Dean’s heart sank. He never liked it went Cas disappeared, but this was a particularly shitty time for him to bail. He could have at least said where he was going.

Sam cleared his throat when Dean had been quiet too long. “So are you two a thing now?”

“What? No. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re nosy this morning.” Dean waited a moment, hoping his brother’s eyebrows would slide back down into their usual places, but they stayed arched in anticipation. “I don’t know. It didn’t come up.”

“Wasn’t that the point of the whole conversation?”

“We’re not in high school, Sam. So no, he didn’t ask me to go steady. Why does it matter to you anyway?”

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. He shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“No, really. Are you dying to share your vast knowledge of gay relationship etiquette or something?”

Sam put his fork down, and for a second Dean thought he had really pissed him off. But his expression was calm. “Can’t I just want to be happy for you? It would be great if you could have a real relationship.”

“I’ve had those. They’re overrated.” The words left a sting in his mouth as he thought of Lisa. His signature attitude about relationships had been a lie ever since her, and maybe Sam knew that, but he went along with the act anyway.

“But you’ve never been with someone who understands the whole hunting thing. Cas lives it. He gets it. So if you had to take off for a job, he wouldn’t flip out. He’d probably go with you.”

“You’re talking like we’re gonna settle down or something,” Dean mumbled through a bite of toast.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea.”

Dean stared blankly at his brother. “So, we close the gates and what? I get a job? Buy a house? You go back to school?”

“Whatever you want to do.”

Dean tried to picture himself living in an actual house again, with the Impala in the driveway, retired from her long cross-country trips. It was a nice house, the one in his mind, and peaceful, but even with an imagined family inside, the scenario felt sad. It felt like an ending, not a beginning.

“Sammy, even if we finish this, there are still a million other creepy sons of bitches out there. Wendigos. Rugarus. Vampires. Are we just supposed to let them walk?”

“There are other hunters out there, Dean. Locking up all the demons would save so many lives already– ”

“No. That’s not how this works. We’re not running on a quota. You’re really prepared to say we’ve done enough?”

Sam was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was low and careful, but Dean recognized anger simmering under the surface.

“You know, Dean, the way I’ve been feeling, I’m not sure I’m gonna make it out alive. So there’s not much more I can do if I’m dead. And I don’t want you wasting the rest of your life trying to clean up a world that’s always gonna be a mess. You’ve been beating your head against that wall your whole life. You’ve done your time.”

Anger jetted through Dean’s body, and he got up from the table, picking up his plate and pitching it down into the sink. It clattered against the metal with a sharp ring, but didn’t break. His hands gripped the counter as he stared down at his white knuckles, waiting for the adrenaline to pass.

“Dean.” It was probably intended to be a plea, but it came out more like an accusation.

“I get it, Sammy, you want me to be happy.” He turned around and leaned against the counter. “But my happy and your happy are two different things.”

Sam tried to interject, but Dean slammed his fist against the cabinet. Sam jumped, and Dean felt a sliver of guilt settling in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“I know you’ve never liked doing this. It’s not the life you wanted, and it’s not the life I wanted for you. But I thought you made a choice.”

“I did– ”

“Then why are you talking like a hostage? And why the hell are you trying to make me into one?”

Sam stared at the table and thumbed the handle of his coffee mug.

 “What, now you got nothing to say?”

Sam remained expressionless. His jaw locked.

“Fine. I’m going for a drive.”

Dean snatched his keys from the counter and stormed up the stairs to the door. He slammed it behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel stood in a field in Montana, a cool breeze sweeping through the grass and making it ripple around his shoes. His view of the mountains was partially obstructed by the trees at their foundation, a forest spotted with wildflowers and moss. A small herd of deer grazed a few hundred yards away, unconcerned with his presence.

This was one of the many places he would often go to be alone. He also frequented an abandoned temple in Cambodia and a mountaintop in Argentina, but today he wanted to stay closer to the bunker in case Dean or Sam called him back. The difference in flying time would be miniscule, just a fraction of a millisecond, but Castiel had an uneasiness turning in his stomach that kept him close to Kansas for the time being.

Although his wings could not take their true physical form here on earth, when he was alone he allowed them to manifest in their smaller size, invisible to humans, so he could stretch them. Wings to angels were like limbs, and his were stiff and sore from being tucked against his back for hours, sometimes days at a time. Flying was not strenuous; the exercise felt pleasant, but now as he extended his wings further he felt them tighten uncomfortably. He spread them out so the sun could warm them, and the feathers absorbed enough heat to soothe his aching muscles.

Castiel hoped Dean wouldn’t read too much into his absence. In hindsight, he should have left a note, but it was human things like these that only crossed his mind as afterthoughts. Besides, he would return soon. He just needed some time to think.

He had stayed with Dean all night, watching him sleep. When Dean’s breathing was deep and steady, he wondered what the hunter dreamed of, and even felt a twinge of envy– an emotion he had experienced for the first time fairly recently– when Dean’s face seemed to relax into an expression of calm and innocence. Angels didn’t sleep; they were designed to be efficient and had no biological imperative to dream. Castiel had tried to make himself sleep before, but even in his deepest meditative state he could still feel his consciousness like an itch in his mind. He craved to be completely unaware, to be reduced to an organism fulfilling its need for rest by separating from reality, if only for a few hours.

During Dean’s sleep cycle, however, there were also moments when his breath would hitch and the veins in his neck would pulse, his hands twitching and clenching, anxious sounds escaping his lips. He was easily soothed with a hand stroking his forehead or pressed against his cheek, but Castiel knew that in the past, Dean had suffered through these moments alone. This knowledge broke him, and although he could not blame himself for the years before he knew Dean, there were plenty of nights cataloged in his mind when he had chosen to leave soon after Dean fell asleep. Even worse, there were those nights he spent absent from the Winchester’s life altogether.

Guilt. Another emotion he was previously unacquainted with. It seeped into every cell of his body and pulled him down as though his heart were tethered to the core of the earth. He wanted to go back in time and erase the loneliness and hopelessness and overwhelming responsibility Dean had felt for his entire life. When Castiel was still questioning his feelings for Dean, he briefly wondered whether he was feeling a distorted version of pity, trying to compensate for Dean’s pain by giving him love. Castiel smirked at the memory of that particular hypothesis, which he now recognized as an attempt to shield his own ego. He was an angel. He wanted to justify his feelings with something that would be more acceptable for an angel to feel for a human, and pity was definitely in that category. Even when angels performed miracles on earth, there was never any love in the equation. If they weren’t following orders, they were doing it out of pity.

But this overwhelming love he felt for Dean was not pity. Castiel wanted to mend everything in Dean’s life that had ever brought him pain, but there was something much stronger– and more terrifying– beyond that. There was selfishness. _He_ wanted to be the one to show Dean just how much love he deserved. And though he never thought he would admit it, there was lust. When his handprint on the hunter’s shoulder had healed, Cas had been more than a little disappointed. His mind often wandered when Dean removed his jacket, eyes fixed on the point where his shoulder met his neck, thinking of another type of mark he would leave on him if he ever got the chance.

Castiel took a deep breath and attempted to clear his mind. He had a feeling it would be even more difficult to control himself around Dean now that he knew their affection was mutual. He had already caught himself several times formulating a plan to get Sam out of the bunker for a few hours, just so they could get some time alone. He had never struggled so much with self-control. Angels were soldiers created by God. They weren’t created to have needs. Needs would get in the way.

But that was just the thing. Castiel had felt– _known_ – for some time now that there was something wrong with him. His software was defective. He was manufactured with faulty wiring. Whatever euphemisms he used, the knowledge was much more catastrophic to him than he let on. An undesirable, but entirely plausible explanation was that he was becoming less of an angel, his grace deteriorating exponentially like some radioactive element. Perhaps his grace was leaking out, unable to remain housed inside a being that had done so much wrong. The idea of being human did not disgust him, and it certainly would have its advantages, but it would not be an ideal outcome. After all, millennia of existing in a particular state of being can make someone rather resistant to change.

There was an even more disturbing possibility, one that Castiel had kept locked away with his deepest fears. His decay might not stop at losing his grace, it might continue until he became truly insane again. He imagined his vessel wandering around the country on autopilot, containing only shreds of his own consciousness. He could harm people. His rebellious, reckless nature as an angel was only a glimpse of what he would become as an insane human, and what it would do to Dean to see him disappear again was unthinkable.

Castiel’s bond with Dean gave him access to certain aspects of the hunter’s mind, a side effect he had discovered recently. He knew it was wrong to read Dean’s memories, especially without his knowledge, and only did so to fill in gaps in his own memory. He learned the details of the moments he lost when the Leviathan controlled his vessel, as well as the time he spent with his memory erased, living as Emmanuel. Unfortunately, it was impossible to gain this factual information without also taking in Dean’s emotional responses. Dean had experienced distress when the Leviathans had taken over Castiel’s vessel, but it was nothing compared to the agony he suffered when Castiel did not remember him. It was something Castiel knew he could not put him through again.

If he lost his mind, he would become a burden. And he knew Dean would never agree to put him down, not even if they were to discuss it beforehand. He also wondered if Dean would still be attracted to him if he were to lose his grace, or if his power was a main component of the allure. He pushed the selfish thought away.

Castiel tried to remind himself that he still had his grace, and as of now, he could continue to be an asset to the Winchesters. If that changed, he would find a solution. It would not be favorable to worry them with the unfounded scenarios in his head.

Besides, he had finally confessed his love for his hunter. And maybe that would be enough to keep him sane for a while.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean pulled his right hand off the steering wheel and flexed it, hissing as his muscles clenched up. Usually he could drive for hours without getting a hand cramp, but when he got tense, he gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white and his tendons locked. He had done some research about trigger finger, and because the condition was most common in “people whose work or hobbies require repetitive gripping actions,” Dean had no idea whether he had damaged his hand working on cars, driving, or holding a gun every damn day of his life – which would be pretty funny considering the name _trigger_ finger.

His eyes shifted to the side mirror, where the asphalt stretched out behind the impala all the way to where the sun was setting on the horizon. When he looked in the rearview, he jumped and hit the steering wheel in frustration. “Dammit, Cas.”

“Sorry.” Castiel was in the back seat, making eye contact with Dean in the mirror. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dean glanced at the empty passenger seat. “Why aren’t you up here?”

“I thought it would be wise to give you space.”

Dean frowned. Why would he want space?

“After I left this morning I realized that my absence may have seemed more deliberate than it was,” Castiel elaborated. “I needed some time to think, but I should have communicated that to you.”

“I’m not mad, Cas.”

A whoosh of wings later, Cas was in the passenger seat, eyeing Dean with the kind of caution that was rare for him. It was only in the most vulnerable moments of their relationship that Castiel had ever shown any real unease in his direction, and each time it happened, Dean was both surprised and humbled. It was unbelievable to him that an Angel of the Lord could possibly feel afraid of him, to any degree. He knew, on some level at least, that it was because he had the power to devastate Cas emotionally. Cas had given him that power a long time ago. Dean only hoped the angel understood that the reverse was true as well.

“Wait a second, how’d you find me?”

Cas squinted at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I have sigils carved into my ribs!” He gestured at his torso.

Cas turned back to look at the road unfolding in front of them. “They’re… no longer effective in this case.”

“What do you mean? Any one of those dicks with wings can find us now? Since when?”

“No, Dean, I meant they’re no longer effective in the case of you and I.”

Dean fought off the shiver in his spine at the words _you and I_ and the reverence with which Cas had said them _._ “You figured out a way to outsmart your own sigils or something?”

“No. Sam is still untraceable to me. But for a while now, I’ve been able to find you.”

Dean was quiet, unsure of how to respond.

“If you would like, I can stop” – he held up finger quotes – “‘teleporting’ and call you instead. You can give me your location if you choose and I can just meet with you that way.”

“Nah, it’s fine. In fact, maybe it’s better this way. I want you to be able to find me if one of us is in trouble or something.”

Cas nodded. “Good, because… even if I don’t actively search for you, I’m still aware of where you are. It’s been that way for a while now.”

            Dean let out a small “Hm.” He would never admit it, but the thought of Cas being tied to him – in a way that was inexplicable even by angel standards – made it difficult for him to conceal his pride. He could feel a grin rising to his lips, so he settled for a smirk instead.

“So where are we going?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. “Nowhere, I’m just driving.”

“Did you and Sam have a fight?”

“He was being a little bitch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I hope I haven’t contributed to the tension between you.” Cas’ voice was laced with guilt.

Dean sighed. “Cas, it’s not about you. Sammy’s just a pain in the ass sometimes, you know?”

“He loves you, Dean,” he said plainly.

Dean glanced over at Cas, but quickly grew uncomfortable with the intense eye contact and looked back at the road.

Castiel cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I want to apologize if I’ve pressured you at all.”

Dean gave him a questioning look. “Pressured me how?”

“Pressured you into dealing with this, whatever this is. I know it’s not a good time.”

“I’m the one that kissed you, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” He turned towards Dean and gave him a look that seemed to say, _How could I forget?_ “But I realize that I may have put you in an awkward position with the way I chose to apologize, and you were very emotional at the time– ”

“Hold on, hold on. Are you trying to say I kissed you because I was emotionally compromised or some bullshit like that?” Dean kept a half smile on his face, even though he was a little hurt by what he thought Cas was getting at.

“No, Dean. I believe you were genuine.” He looked out the passenger window, turning his head away so Dean couldn’t see his face. Dean briefly wondered if he was blushing and was hit with a twinge of satisfaction. “But I know you,” Cas continued. “And I know the patterns of your past relationships. Commitment doesn’t sit well with you.”

The words stung, and Dean had to focus to drown his anger. “My past has nothing to do with this,” he growled. “Besides, unless I missed the memo on some weirdo angel customs, it’s not like we’re getting married.”

“Pull over,” Castiel murmured.

Dean rolled his eyes – Cas seemed to have an irritating thirst for drama– but obeyed. When they were safely pulled off in a dusty turnaround, he cut the engine. “You gonna propose?” he said sarcastically, with a little more venom in his voice than he intended.

If Cas was hurt, he hid it well. “Making jokes is a way that many people cope with things that make them uncomfortable. You’re uncomfortable with commitment, because you feel that you’ve failed the only people in your life who have ever mattered to you.”

“ _Cas_ – ” Dean warned. He _so_ did not want to talk about this.

He continued without so much as a blink. “You feel that you failed your father, your brother, Ben and Lisa– ”

At the casual mention of Ben and Lisa, Dean’s entire body flooded with rage. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you _dare_ talk to me about them.”

“In reality, you’ve always done what you thought was best for them. You put their safety and happiness before your own, and yet you still feel inadequate.” Castiel looked down to where his hands were folded in his lap. “So the thought of forming meaningful relationships scares you, and I understand that.”

Dean could only shake his head indignantly.

“I’ve been avoiding the topic for your sake, but I value our relationship and I want to maintain honesty with you… ” He trailed off, looking down at his lap again. When he looked up, Dean was shocked to see tears in his eyes. “And if I’m being honest, I’m scared.”

Dean frowned. His protective instinct kicked in, his big brother impulse, and he felt an immediate need to destroy the source of Cas’ fear. With Sam he usually fought back his reactions, because he couldn’t be too vulnerable around him. But with Cas, he could let go, at least a little. He put his hand on the angel’s shoulder and squeezed gently, fingernails digging into the worn material of his trench coat.

“What are you scared of?”

Cas blinked back his tears and cleared his throat, obviously trying to hold it together. “I’ve never been so… attached to anyone. Before I chose free will, I don’t think I had attachments at all. There were things I was fond of, sure – humanity, for one – but if I had been asked to let go of those things, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to fight for them. Now… I am attached to you, and though it feels right in many ways, it hurts as well. It scares me, Dean, because I have never lost something so important as you, and if I did, I’m not sure I would survive it.”

Dean’s stomach twisted. Hearing Cas verbalize his pain simultaneously made him want to be close to him, to provide comfort, and made him want to disappear, or at least get far enough away that he couldn’t hurt his angel anymore. But he supposed that was just it – it was too late for that. Somewhere along the line, their bond had solidified even further, and now running away wasn’t an option. Cas could feel him wherever he went, and Cas would still feel afraid.

Castiel seemed to pick up on Dean’s thought process, and he shook his head. “None of this is your fault, Dean. It’s just that you’ve had these attachments before, and you’ve lost people, and you’re still here. I don’t know if I would be so strong.”

“C’mon, Cas. You’re a friggin celestial being. You’re the strongest guy I know.” Dean gave him a little punch on the arm. “Besides, you’re talking like I had some kind of heroic comeback.” He chuckled humorlessly. “What I couldn’t ignore, I drenched in whiskey, and I’m not sure if that qualifies as brave, you know?”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Cas’ lips. “Your coping methods are a little unorthodox,” he said softly.

 “Exactly. And let me tell you, it’s not like I lived through all of that by choice, either. I just had to keep going, you know? I had people depending on me. Like you, and Sammy. And the rest of the world, I guess. It’s not like I got through it out of bravery, or strength, or anything like that. I got through it because I had to. And you’d do the same thing.”

Cas shook his head again. “You’re a man of blind faith, Dean. And you call yourself a realist.”

“This ain’t blind faith, man. I know you. I know you have it in you to do whatever you think is right. You’ve done it before.” He paused, debating whether or not he wanted to listen to his instincts. “C’mere,” he said, giving in.

Cas frowned at him, clearly confused.

“Come here,” Dean repeated, holding out his right arm in invitation. Cas obeyed, though the questioning look remained in his eyes. He scooted over to Dean, who put his arm around him, grabbing his right shoulder and pulling him closer, tucking the angel’s head under his chin.

“Dean – ” Cas seemed concerned. “Isn’t public affection between males frowned upon?”

“We’re on a back road in the middle of Kansas,” Dean pointed out, pressing a kiss to the angel’s forehead. He felt Cas flinch slightly in surprise, and he found himself a bit surprised at his own boldness as well. “Besides, if someone has a problem you can just smite ’em, right?” He ran his fingers through Cas’ hair. _Please feel better_ , he pleaded silently.

Cas sighed, seeming to read his mind yet again. “I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean could feel the vibration of Cas’ voice against his chest, and it sent a shiver up his spine. “I don’t want you to worry,” Dean said. “I mean, we got other shit to worry about. What makes you so sure you’re gonna lose me, anyway? You have to admit I’m kind of a cockroach. No thanks to you.” Dean nudged him with his arm to emphasize his sarcasm.

Cas responded by nuzzling his head against Dean’s neck, and Dean felt a warm glow settle in his chest. Castiel had always been so reserved and awkward that it was especially endearing to see him react in such a primal way, pure emotion as a response to Dean making himself vulnerable.

“I’m not just concerned for your safety,” Cas finally said. “I’m concerned that your feelings will change. Humans have proven themselves to be fickle.”

“Hey, that’s my species you’re talking about.” He was glad to hear– and feel – Cas’ small chuckle. “And c’mon, man, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the worst of you already. You tried to kill me, for one thing. You’re weird beyond belief. And you’re not the best at keeping in touch. Don’t you think if my feelings were gonna change, it would’ve happened by now?”

“I suppose so.”

“If anyone’s gonna change their mind here, it’s gonna be you. Trust me, I’ve been told how much of a pain in the ass I am. And I’m stubborn as all hell. You know that. I see a lot of frustration in your future.”

Cas chuckled again. “I guess I’ll just have to see if it’s worth it, Dean Winchester.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dean let his cell go to voicemail a few times before he agreed to answer it, at Cas’ request. He had to shift around in the seat of the Impala to fish his cell out of his pocket, and gave Cas an apologetic look as he untangled their arms. He glanced at the caller ID and rolled his eyes when he saw his brother’s name. He answered the call.

“What?” he said into the phone. Cas looked at him pointedly, as if asking him to be friendlier.

“We got a case,” Sam said. His tone was flat, like it always got when he was mad at Dean but didn’t want to talk about it. “Just outside of Lincoln, three people have gone missing in the past week. All of them men in their early twenties, last seen leaving the same bar.”

“Are we thinking vengeful spirit?”

“Yeah, maybe. I figure it’s close enough, we might as well go check it out.”

Dean sighed and looked at Cas, then realized he was doing it just for the sake of looking at him. He looked away again. “Okay, but are you sure you’re up for it? I mean you’re still pretty fucked up from the trials.” Dammit. He just couldn’t escape that stupid brotherly instinct. Not even a few hours had passed and he was already half-done being mad and back to being concerned.

Just as Sam began to insist that he was fine, Cas held out his hand. “Let me speak to him.”

Dean shrugged and handed the phone to him.

“Hello, Sam. No, you’re not fine. I agree with Dean, maybe you should sit this one out. Yes, I’ll watch him.” He chuckled. “No tequila. Got it. Bye, Sam.” He hung up the phone, looking amused.

“What did the little shit say now?”

“He said to restrict your alcohol intake, because you tend to drink a lot when you’re throwing a temper tantrum. And that tequila makes you particularly belligerent.”

“I am _not_ throwing a temper tantrum. And you’re not the boss of me. Now let’s go.” Dean started the car and put it in drive, refusing to look at Cas when he realized he was missing a vital piece of information. “Where exactly are we going?”

To Dean’s relief, Cas kept his smugness to a minimum, at least outwardly. “Sam is texting you the coordinates and more information. Do we need to stop by the bunker for anything?”

“Nah, you know I always have a packed bag. Let’s go gank a ghost.”

The drive to Lincoln was filled with pleasant tension, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was from being on a hunt again, or from being in a confined space with Cas for so long. Maybe it was a little of both. Either way, it had Dean’s blood buzzing. Unlike Sam, Cas didn’t protest when Dean turned the music up loud and sang along – he even smiled. There was no judgment in it, just genuine contentment from seeing Dean so relaxed and happy. It was a miracle for both of them.

They checked in at a sleazy motel a few blocks from the bar they would be investigating. Dean had to do an internal run through of Zeppelin song titles in alphabetical order to prevent himself from reaching across the counter and punching the clerk, who had definitely smirked when Dean handed him his credit card. Dean knew that smirk. He was ashamed of himself for it, but he had definitely given it to a few guys in the past. Castiel seemed oblivious to it, so Dean bit his tongue and gave the dude a sarcastic smile when he handed the card back with the room key. As they were leaving the lobby, Dean gave Cas a good slap on the ass and turned to wink at the clerk, just as a final _fuck you_.

In the parking lot he was met with one of Cas’ confused squints.

“Sorry, I had to. That guy was being a dick.”

“He hardly said anything, Dean.”

“He gave us a look.” Dean opened the trunk of the Impala and pulled out two hockey bags filled with everything they would need for their first visit to the bar. He handed the lighter bag to Cas.

Castiel lowered his voice. “Maybe that’s because your credit card is obviously stolen, Mr. Fredrico Suarez.”

“Hey, I could be adopted. Or half… Mexican, or whatever.”

Cas scoffed. “You’re clearly white, Dean.”

“ _You’re_ … white,” Dean said lamely, closing the trunk.

Their motel room was nautical themed, despite the fact that Lincoln, Nebraska was probably just about as far from the ocean as you could get. Dean smirked at the corny lighthouse paintings while Cas put his bag down on one of the queen sized beds and shrugged out of his trench coat. “Are we FBI tonight?” he asked casually.

“You catch on fast,” Dean said as he put his own bag down on the other bed. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, pretending to examine the hideous trout-patterned curtains. “So, uh, you want me to change in the bathroom?” Dean immediately cringed at how juvenile the question sounded.

Cas tucked his FBI badge inside his suit jacket and looked up at him. “Do you want to?”

Although it wasn’t at all Castiel’s style to purposefully make him feel insecure, to Dean it felt somewhat like a dare to stay in the room. It wasn’t as if he was ashamed of his body – he knew he had plenty of reasons to show it off – but with all the tension between them the prospect of revealing more skin than necessary was admittedly causing him some anxiety.

“Dean?” Cas said after a few seconds too long of silence. In a few strides he was standing next to a still frozen Dean. “I apologize, I didn’t mean – ”

“It’s fine, man. I didn’t want to make this weird, but something… Something’s just different, you know? I guess it’s just freaking me out a little.”

Castiel frowned. “What is?”

“Being alone with you, I guess. With everything out in the open.”

Castiel’s body language shifted towards something that Dean couldn’t quite name, but it put knots in Dean’s stomach, and his heart rate climbed instantly. Cas seemed to sense Dean’s panic, and softened his expression, but continued to move forward as he licked his lips and leaned in to press a kiss against the veins in Dean’s neck. Dean would never admit to the gasp that left his mouth, or the way he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, or the rush of adrenaline that flooded his system just from the angel’s touch.

“I rebuilt your body, Dean,” Cas murmured into his jaw, sliding his lips up to his ear in an open-mouthed kiss. “Every cell. I pieced you back together from nothing.” Dean shuddered, and while the teeth around his earlobe were certainly contributing, another part of it was the reminder of the sheer power of the being before him. “You have no reason to hide from me that which I already know so intimately.”

Dean turned his head to kiss him, but Cas moved away and cleared his throat. “We have work to do, correct?”

Dean tried his best to summon the fires of hell and direct them all at Castiel in an enraged glare, but if he was being honest with himself, he probably looked how he felt: desperate. Regardless, he moved past Cas and grabbed the suit out of his bag, avoiding eye contact as he walked to the bathroom and slid the door shut. He heard nothing but silence outside the door as he changed, though he became vaguely aware that he was muttering to himself as he tucked his shirt in. When he was finished changing he slid the door open again and stayed facing the mirror to tie his tie, back turned to Cas.

After a moment, Cas spoke. “So, did Sam give you any more information about the victims?”

“Yeah, let me pull it up.” Dean grabbed his phone and looked through several text messages to find what he was looking for. “Ok, so first vic was Robert Mendez, 23, went missing last Friday after leaving Ace’s Sports Bar around one a.m., and his body was found Saturday, beaten to a pulp. His apartment was locked from the inside, and the alarm system was set and appeared to be working. Friends say no one else had keys to the place, but police are investigating it as a homicide and suspect that whoever it was knew the alarm code.”

“Or they could walk through walls,” Cas said, and Dean couldn’t help smiling.

“Yeah, exactly. Second vic: Daniel White, 21. Went missing the same night they found Mendez’s body, from the same bar. He was there with some friends, and they said he left around midnight, acting really weird. The police didn’t find his body, but they found his car abandoned in an empty parking lot, with his blood all over the inside. There was enough blood that detectives say he definitely died of blood loss even if he managed to get away from his attacker. Ruled as a homicide. Third guy went missing a few days ago, left Ace’s around one a.m., and never showed up for work yesterday. At this point he’s just considered a missing person, but the cops are prepared for the worst, since it fits the pattern.”

“You and Sam think this is the work of a vengeful spirit?”

“Yeah, I mean it fits. The spirit’s probably tied to the bar. Maybe something happened there recently. A fight or something.”

“But I thought the first two victims died elsewhere.”

“Well, this wouldn’t be the first time a spirit could travel beyond where it’s tied to. Especially if it has some personal connection to the victims, it could probably hitch a ride with them.”

“And it returns to the bar on its own?”

“No, it probably gets zapped back there once it kills whoever it’s with. Speaking of which,” Dean said, looking at his watch, “we should get going. We don’t want anyone else getting snatched unless we’re there.”

“And what do we do once we find it?”

“Find out who it is, salt and burn the bones. If that doesn’t work, we look for an object it could be attaching itself to and get rid of that.”

“I see. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s roll. And Cas? Normal behavior, okay? No… weird stuff.”

Cas squinted. “What do you mean?”

“No touching in public.”

“You’re the one who slapped my rear earlier, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Fine, no touching in public while we’re working.”

Castiel seemed to consider this for a moment. “So, if I wish to hold your hand in public when we’re not working on a case, I may?” A sly smile formed on his lips, and Dean’s heart stuttered.

“Sure, Cas, if that would make you happy.” Dean smiled, though he inwardly flinched at the thought of walking into a liquor store or a diner holding hands with a dude.

“It would make me very happy. Thank you, Dean.”

Cas was smiling completely now, one of those rare, sincere smiles, and damn it all if Dean was going to let his dumb issues get in the way of seeing that smile more often. “Alright, let’s get out of here,” he said. He was half afraid that if they waited any longer he would end up dragging Cas into bed. _Maybe later_ , he offered himself as motivation.

Cas was still smiling like an idiot as they left the motel and headed for the bar.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam had been in bed most of the day, getting only the unsatisfying kind of sleep he got when he was feverish. He would pass out for an hour or so, then wake up soaked in sweat, fists clenched at his sides. It reminded him of detoxing from demon blood, though it was different in that instead of hurtling toward a terrifying, violent end, he could feel himself simply growing weaker, being carried further and further away from the living by currents that lulled him to sleep as they drowned him.

This time he woke up because his cell was ringing, and he prayed it wasn’t Dean calling to say that Cas had bailed on him, or Cas calling to say that Dean was in trouble. If he was going to die here, alone, then he at least wanted to know that his family was safe.

He was surprised to see that it was Charlie calling. He picked up.

“Hey, Charlie,” he answered, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, except for you, maybe,” she said. “I’ll get right to the point. Dean called me. He said he and Cas had to leave you alone, and he’s worried about you. So I’m stopping by.”

“Charlie, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine. Dean’s being melodramatic.” Even as he spoke, he felt himself getting lightheaded just from sitting up in bed.

“Look, I don’t know what exactly you guys got yourselves into, but it sounds like it’s some pretty serious shit if Dean’s afraid to leave you alone. I mean I know you two have crazy separation anxiety, but he seemed legitly freaked out. So I’m coming over. I got some ginger ale, a Harry Potter DVD box set, and a skanky nurse’s uniform.”

Sam laughed a little at that. “Gross.”

“Yeah, totally kidding about that last one. But the other stuff’s true. I’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?”

“Okay. Did Dean give you the address?” 

“Yeah, if you can call it an address. You guys are full-on Batcave status now. So do me a favor and take the sharks out of the moat before I get there.”

“Will do.” 

Sam smiled as he hung up. Maybe it was a good thing that Dean had called Charlie. He never would’ve done it himself, but it would be nice to have someone there with him when – if, he tried to tell himself– things got worse. On the other hand, he didn’t want to burden her with taking care of him as he inched toward his death. He pictured Charlie running around the bunker, bringing him water, making him soup, getting wet towels for his forehead, calling Dean in a panic, and trying to find containers for him to vomit into. If Sam continued on this downward slope, Charlie wasn’t signing up for a few days of hanging out, she was signing up for a few days of torture and the possibility of watching him die. Sam just hoped she understood that.

When Charlie arrived, Sam had to stumble out of his room to turn off the alarms and open the door, and by the time she was inside with her suitcase and a few grocery bags, the room was spinning and Sam was sure he was going to pass out.

“I would hug you,” he said, trying to stay conscious, “but I’m not sure how contagious this is.”

“That’s okay,” she said. She put down her stuff and approached him cautiously. “I don’t like sweaty hugs anyway.”

“Can’t help you with your stuff, either,” Sam said, feeling more and more useless by the second. “Since standing up is apparently an issue.”

“You look awful,” she said. “If you die on my watch, your brother’s gonna kick my ass.”

Despite Sam’s protests, Charlie made him lean on her shoulder and helped to walk him back to bed. Once he was lying down, she brought him a glass of water and started bugging him about food.

“You haven’t eaten anything in, what, 36 hours? You have to eat something.”

Sam could only groan in response. Just thinking about food made him feel nauseated.

“I’m not exactly a chef, but something tells me you’re not going to ask for a gourmet meal in this condition anyway. How about crackers? Can we do crackers?”

“I can try,” he said, but imagining the texture of something solid in his mouth made his stomach lurch. “Charlie, I’m sorry, you really didn’t have to do this.”

“Listen, Hero Complex,” she said with a smile. “You’ve saved a lot of people. Now you get to shut up and let me save you.” She paused, brushing some sweaty hair off Sam’s forehead. Even in his weakened state, he was touched by the gesture, which was soft and maternal in a way he couldn’t remember having ever experienced. 

She got up and left the room, and came back with a sleeve of soda crackers. “You’re going to eat two of these now, and see how you feel,” she said, handing them to Sam and sitting down on the bed. “I think I already know the answer to this,” she said, “but why aren’t we taking you to the hospital?”

“They can’t help with this.”

“That’s what I figured you’d say. What did you get yourself into?”

“You really don’t want to know.”

She sighed and scooted further onto the bed, lying down beside him and turning to face him, her hands tucked under her head. “Eat,” she nagged again, and Sam rolled his eyes. She kept her expression stern until he took a cautious bite. When he seemed to be okay, she continued. “So where did the lovebirds have to run off to, anyway?”

“There was a case nearby.”

“Doesn’t seem like Dean to leave you like this. And can’t Cas just heal you up or something?”

“They don’t know how bad it is. I didn’t even realize how bad it is. And Cas can’t heal this. It’s really dark stuff, Charlie. Above his pay grade.”

“Above an angel’s pay grade? Yikes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yikes.”

A smirk flashed across Charlie’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… Do you think they got a motel room with one bed?”

“Ew. Seriously, if you want me to keep my food down, you’re going to have to stop that.”

“Aw, c’mon, I just meant for cuddling. It’s cute.” She looked borderline giddy.

“You’ve never even met Cas. Why’re you so happy about this?”

“Oh, please. I don’t have to meet him to know how infatuated Dean is. And from what you two have told me, Cas feels the same way. So it’s about time they started making little angel babies.”

“Oh, God, I hope that’s not possible…”

“They would be the most poorly behaved children ever,” Charlie said, breaking out into laughter. “Apocalypse 2.0!”

“Yeah, tell me about it. So we can only hope they’re in two separate beds for now.”

“Seriously, though,” she said. “Wouldn’t you be happy for them if they were official?”

“Of course.”

“But…?”

Sam sighed. “I guess I just can’t see Dean being that open about anything, you know? I tried to talk to him about it, and he shut down.”

“Coming out is hard,” Charlie said quietly, and Sam wondered what it was that she was remembering from her own life that could make her voice so small and sad.

“Yeah, but I told him I wouldn’t freak out or anything.”

“It’s not you he’s running from. It’s himself. It’s the voice in the back of his head that tells him it’s wrong, or it’s weird, or it makes him less of a man.”

“That certainly sounds like Dean.”

“Just give him some time. Everything he thought he knew about himself is under construction.” She looked up at Sam. “Finish your crackers?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She sat up and handed him his water glass again. “Drink a little more, and then you can go back to sleep if you want. I’m going to call Dean – ”

“Charlie, don’t –”

“Um, you’re bedridden.” She got up and started to adjust the blankets, pulling them up and around his shoulders. “You can’t really stop me.”

“Please, don’t. He’ll be back as soon as he’s done with this case. There’s nothing he can do for me anyway.”

“I’m not going to ask him to come back. But he’s your brother and he would want to know how bad this is. Besides, maybe he and Cas can start thinking of ways to heal you. There has to be some spell, or something. You just don’t know about it yet.” She was smiling, but the worry in her voice was clear.

“Usually I’m the one who handles the research.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry if this shatters your worldview, but people aren’t completely defenseless without you, you know.”

“Charlie, I didn’t mean – ”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying you need to take it easy. Let the rest of us handle this. I’ll call Dean, and then I’ll check the web for… what, demon flu?”

A part of Sam wanted to tell her to forget it, that she didn’t even know the right places to look for the info they needed, that he had already looked a thousand times and hadn’t found anything. But he could already feel the tide coming in again. His eyelids fluttered, his energy drained from his excursion to the front door and the effort it took to eat, and though he was still hot and sweaty from his fever, the weight of the blankets against his body was nice.

“Dean can tell you what to look for,” he said. It felt like admitting defeat. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

“You’re gonna get better, Sam,” she said.

“I sure hope so,” he said, and the tide took him again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a little angsty. Because let's face it, this is Dean we're dealing with.

“Can I help you?”

Dean flashed his badge to the blonde behind the bar, and Cas followed suit. “My name is Agent Crosby, and this is my partner Agent Stills. We’re here about the recent disappearances. Would you be willing to talk with us?”

“Sure. Give me just one sec.” She slid a beer to an older guy who was sitting at the end of the bar and took his empty shot glasses. After depositing them in the sink, she came back to where Dean and Cas were waiting and leaned on the counter. “What do you want to know?”

“You can start with your name,” Dean paused and threw in a wink for good measure. “And how long you’ve been working here.”

“I’m Julie,” she replied, blushing at Dean’s wink. Cas let out a huff, but the girl didn’t seem to hear it. “I’ve been here for about two months.”

“Did you notice anything strange in the past week or so, besides the disappearances themselves?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Just anything weird, like maybe coworkers acting strange, or maybe even some black goop lying around?”

“Um… No, everyone’s been fine, as far as I can tell. And what do you mean ‘black goop’?”

“Well, just between you and me, there’s a serial killer that likes to leave this really gross black stuff around his crime scenes. No clue why he’s doing it.”

“And you think that’s who’s killing people?”

“We’re not sure,” Cas interjected before Dean could answer. “But anything you can tell us will be helpful.”

Julie shrugged. “I really wish I could help you guys more. But I haven’t noticed anything.” She looked Dean up and down and smiled. “Although, you could always leave your card with me. I’ll give you a call if I remember anything.”

Dean regretted winking at her. It wasn’t like she’d needed extra convincing to talk to them. Usually Dean would be glad to get some attention from a hot girl, but he could feel jealousy radiating from Cas’ body, and was a little concerned that he might burst into flames. He pulled a business card out of his pocket and slid it across the counter, avoiding eye contact with Julie. “Thanks,” he said flatly. “Have a great night.”

“You too,” she said, obviously crestfallen, and Dean felt a bit guilty.

They sat down in a corner, at a booth with a dark oak table and maroon seats. The décor was definitely vintage, bordering on creepy. By the looks of the place, combined with the location, Dean wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a popular spot for hunters. Clearly that wasn’t the case, however, as there was still a killer on the loose. If there were other hunters here, they would be climbing over each other to be the hero. The bar would be full of fake badges and unregistered firearms. But it seemed quiet, just a few middle-aged dudes watching baseball and feeding their alcoholism. Nothing out of the ordinary.

A waitress came over and took their orders, then answered the same questions they’d asked Julie, with the same responses; she hadn’t seen anything unusual recently.

While they waited for their food, Dean looked up at one of the flat screens and pretended to watch the game, hoping that Cas wouldn’t say anything about Julie’s flirtation. Just when he was starting to relax, Cas spoke.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t know what came over me before.”

Dean took a prolonged sip from his beer. “What are you talking about?”

“I know that other people find you attractive, and that is not a reason for me to get angry. The way she looked at you made me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.” Cas looked down at his hands, where they were folded on the table, next to his untouched beer. “But just because the nature of our relationship has changed doesn’t mean I’m justified in my reaction.”

“Hey, Cas, it’s fine. I’m, uh, flattered. If you’re jealous, that just means you think I’m freakin’ awesome. I’m okay with that. Just don’t spontaneously combust or anything on me.”

“I won’t, Dean.”

One bacon cheeseburger and several baskets of bottomless fries later (all for Dean, of course), they decided it was time to check the outside of the building. Dean said this was looking less and less like a vengeful spirit case – unless this particular spirit was a neat freak, it would be weird for it to not leave any ectoplasm behind at all – but they figured they’d check outside for black goo just in case.

The night air would have been refreshing if not for the dumpster in the parking lot behind the bar, but Dean just tried not to breathe through his nose as he pulled out an EMF meter. As soon as he turned it on, it lit up and started making noise. “Well I’ll be damned,” Dean muttered. “Cas, did you see any power lines around here?”

“Not in the immediate vicinity, no.”

“Well, are your ghost senses tingling?”

“No, but when a spirit is powerful enough – and if this one’s gone vengeful, it might be – it may be able to hide its presence from me.”

Dean smiled to himself. Although it wasn’t great news that Cas couldn’t just locate the ghost with his angel radar, he always felt a little pride when Cas demonstrated hunting knowledge. Understanding that vengeful spirits were higher up on the food chain than your average ghost wasn’t exactly advanced material, but Dean still took it as a sign that Cas listened when he talked and was at least mildly interested in his work.

Dean walked along the perimeter of the lot, and the readings on the EMF meter diminished the further he got from the bar. “Obviously we’re on to something here. Do you think the chicks that work here were lying? Covering up for someone, maybe?”

“They seemed truthful to me,” Cas replied. “And why would a human willingly do anything on behalf a vengeful spirit?”

“What, different species can’t be friends?” Dean said in mock-offense.

“That’s not what I’m implying. I just thought vengeful spirits were angry beyond reason, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to bargain with humans. And without a bargain or possession, I don’t see why a human would obey a spirit’s commands.”

“Well I’m pretty sure those girls weren’t possessed. Didn’t see any black shit coming out of their ears, anyway.”

“They weren’t possessed, I would have been able to tell that much. Their souls were untouched.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s threatening them?”

“But that’s what I’m saying, Dean. Aren’t vengeful spirits too insane to properly execute threats? I was under the impression they killed out of rage, so why would this one be so careful?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. What if they’re, like, evolving or something?”

Cas seemed to consider this for a moment. “I suppose supernatural beings would not be outside the reaches of evolution. The ones that can escape hunters are more likely to survive. But ghosts do not reproduce, Dean. Your theory only applies to creatures that pass on their genetic material to their offspring.”

“Shit. So I’m right? There’s a bunch of super-evolved werewolves and vamps running amok out there?”

“In ordinary cases, genetic mutations spread very slowly across populations. But the smaller gene pools paired with DNA that is already extraordinary… Theoretically, it makes sense.”

“Shit,” Dean said again, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Dean. This doesn’t solve our current problem. Either this is a vengeful spirit that somehow has the ability to make rational decisions, or we were incorrect in our original prognosis.”

Dean was unaware of the fact that he was pacing until he noticed Cas’ eyes following him back and forth. He forced himself to stand still for a moment. “Alright, let’s do surveillance here overnight, and we’ll see if anything goes down.”

“I can watch the area. You should go back to the motel and sleep.”

“Cas, you don’t have to do that. I mean, what if something happens?”

“Then I will retrieve you.”

“How about I sleep in the car? We can park it in the alley right here.”

Cas smirked, and Dean felt a flash of embarrassment, though he wasn’t sure why. “What?”

“Nothing, you just… seem reluctant to leave me alone.”

He was right. Dean didn’t want to leave him alone. He wanted to be by his side, with all the weapons in the Impala’s trunk well within reach in case this _thing_ , vengeful spirit or otherwise, showed up, and just in case Cas couldn’t handle it by himself, as unlikely as that was. Dean scrambled for an excuse. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t trust you. Maybe you’re gonna fly off and ditch me again.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have taken me with you on this case. I think you’re worried about me. You want to protect me.”

Denial flooded Dean’s system. He turned away to be sure Cas couldn’t read his expression, even in the dim glow from the streetlight. “That would be dumb. You’re an angel. You don’t need me to protect you.” _You don’t need me at all._

Cas stepped closer to him and threaded their fingers together lightly. Dean considered reminding him of their agreement about PDA, but Cas’ look of sincerity stopped him. Cas spoke quietly, low enough so only Dean would be able to hear, even though they were completely alone behind the bar. “Protection isn’t all you’re good for, Dean. You are a brave and dedicated protector, but there are other reasons for you to be needed, and loved.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s all I can do, it’s my job.”

“No, Dean. That’s what you’ve been told, but you are a whole person. You are allowed to exist outside of your role as protector.”

Dean let out an exasperated sigh.

“I may not need you to protect me,” Cas continued, “but I appreciate that you want to. It means that you see me as more than just an angel.”

“Of course I do, Cas. You know that.”

“You taught me that,” Cas agreed. “You taught me that I could be more than what my Father wanted me to be.”

It wasn’t explicitly stated, but the implication was there: _Take your own advice, Dean._ Did everything have to be about something else? Dean clenched his jaw. “Just let me sleep in the damn car, Cas.”

“I wasn’t going to stop you,” Cas replied, a little defensive now. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped, but I was just trying – ”

“What, Cas? Trying to help? Lecturing me isn’t going to help right now, okay? I didn’t bring you with me so you could try to get inside my head.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Let’s go get the car.” But it didn’t feel right. It felt like Cas was just humoring him, like Dean hadn’t actually won. He felt manipulated and patronized.

Cas sighed as they started back toward the car, and Dean felt a familiar weight settle over him. The only reason they were having this argument in the first place was because Cas was trying to get him to be someone he could never be. He was definitely emotionally stunted, and he knew that, but at least he was at peace with it. He knew his place, and that was behind a gun, pointing it at creepy sons of bitches and pulling the trigger. He thought Cas loved him for that. Why did everyone want him to change? Sammy and Cas both seemed to be asking him to look for something that wasn’t there, some “other piece” of himself that he could find so that he could be a “whole person.” But as far as he was concerned, he was as close to whole as he was ever going to get, and didn’t see any use in trying to patch himself up. For Cas, he would sure as hell try, but he was sure he’d just let him down in the end. He’d just let everyone down.

Hell, maybe he was too broken for even a fallen angel to love.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update! I promise I have not abandoned this fic. This is a short chapter, with not much plot, but there is more to come soon.

They parked the Impala in the alleyway, and for a few hours they just sat there, staring at the empty lot behind the bar. Occasionally, an employee would step outside for a cigarette, or to toss a bag of garbage into the dumpster, but no one looked suspicious. Dean fell asleep around nine o’clock, probably from boredom, and Castiel was content with listening to his slow, even breathing.

He didn’t want Dean to be angry with him. Dean was generally brimming with resentment as it was, which he kept at a constant simmer, hidden only from those who didn’t look close enough. Cas wondered how much of that resentment was reserved for him specifically. He imagined Dean cared for him almost as much as he cared for Sam, albeit in different ways, and if Dean could care for Sam so much and still feel so much resentment toward him, then the same probably went for Castiel himself. It seemed that holding grudges was a part of most significant relationships, at least for Dean, but Cas still disliked the idea. He often fantasized about a theoretical time in the future when he and Dean could be more open with one another, and when emotional discussions and personal questions would be received exactly as Castiel intended them – as signs of genuine concern – rather than as attempts to make Dean feel insecure or judged.

It was ironic, Castiel thought, that Dean had once criticized him for his black-and-white thinking, his reluctance to question anything. Now, thanks to Dean himself, Castiel found himself questioning nearly everything, particularly things that made the people he loved unhappy. Coming forward with his feelings for Dean only further proved what he had suspected from the moment he chose free will: the universe was filled with endless possibilities, and nothing was set in stone. His loved ones did not have to be unhappy. They were not doomed to remain trapped in their cycles of repression and displacement and guilt and loneliness.

He knew that Dean might not be ready to accept that. He clearly had doubts about his worth, regardless of Castiel’s efforts to convince him of its boundlessness. But Cas was a patient being, having lived for millennia with nothing but orders to follow, so he could certainly wait for Dean to feel more comfortable speaking to him about personal matters, especially if it meant enjoying the hunter’s company along the way.

A few minutes past midnight, Dean awoke, grumbling about whether or not he’d missed anything.

“I assure you, if anything of importance had occurred, I would have made sure to wake you,” Cas replied.

“So what’ve you been doing?”

Castiel blinked at Dean, wondering if he was misunderstanding the question. “I’ve been watching the bar.”

“Yeah, I know that. I meant, isn’t it boring for you to just sit there, or whatever? Are you at least doing something else in your head?”

“Like what, Dean?”

“I don’t know, like reciting poetry or doing calculus or some shit like that.”

“What would be the purpose of – ”

“Never mind. I just feel bad that you have to be here with me on this boring case. It’s below your pay grade.”

It seemed that this was Dean’s way of telling him he wasn’t going to stay angry.   “I don’t exactly have a ‘pay grade’ anymore,” Cas said, using air quotes. “And besides, a few hours of inactivity is hardly a burden for me. Before my mission to raise you from hell, I spent millennia watching the earth. Although I’ve since learned much about the pleasures of participating in the world, it’s not unpleasant to simply observe.”

A half-smile spread across Dean’s face.

“What?” Cas said, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing, I guess I just forget that you don’t feel like you’re babysitting me anymore. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that you actually want to be here. That you’re not bored out of your mind.”

Cas smiled sadly. “Some of my siblings undoubtedly gave you that idea. But they had a different perspective on humanity. While they saw you as beneath us, I saw you as something entirely different. Incomparable.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said, smirking. “You tried to boss me around as much as anyone else, in the beginning.” Cas thought he saw a hint of fondness along with the echoes of defiance in Dean’s eyes.

“It’s true that my ego was larger then. But mostly I was scared of you.”

“Scared of _me_?”

“Humans as a whole, but yes, you in particular. My mission, the Righteous Man. You could disobey orders. Consider how foreign that was to me.”

“So… you found me so intimidating that you just had to act like a dick.”

“I suppose I overcompensated. I’m sure you’re familiar with that.” It was just a joke, but as soon as the words left his lips, Castiel tensed, waiting for Dean to get out of the car and slam the door.

But Dean just rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. You’ve been hanging out with Sam too much.”

The mention of the younger Winchester made Castiel feel guilty for enjoying this time alone with Dean. “Shouldn’t we be calling him, or Charlie?”

“She said she’d call if there was any change. It’s just a waiting game now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Dean. He’s endured worse.” Cas found he didn’t necessarily believe that, but he wanted to reassure both Dean and himself. “I’m just sorry I can’t help.”

“Hey, you’re a whole person, Cas,” Dean said, repeating the words Castiel had said to him just hours before. “Not just some bucket of angel mojo I carry around with me.” His tone was decisively casual, and his eyes downcast, as though that could possibly lessen the significance of what he said.

The rest of the night was uneventful, the relaxed silence between them only interrupted by Dean’s occasional musings about the case. Just after the last employee walked to her vehicle and left the lot, Dean fell asleep again, this time facing Cas rather than the window. Castiel wondered if it was just coincidence or if Dean really did sleep more soundly when he knew that he was there with him. It may have been a silly notion, but it made him feel like he was worthy of Dean’s trust. After the things Naomi had made him do…

No. He would not think about those things.

When dawn began to break, a pale blue bleeding across the sky, Dean stirred in his sleep. Castiel pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead, and his breathing slowed again. He deserved a little more sleep. He deserved more than he knew.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter this time, sorry! But I'm already working on the next one, and I promise I'll try to be better about updating. Thank you so much for sticking with me.

Charlie knocked on Sam’s door three times before entering. He was still bedridden, swaddled in blankets, alternating between freezing and roasting. He tried his best to hold his head up when Charlie came in, but it felt a bit like trying to prop up a bowling ball with a toothpick.

“Don’t sit up,” she insisted, “but I think I may know what can cure you.”

“What? How?” Sam cringed at the pathetic croak of his own voice.

“Well, I did some research on the trials you were doing. And for the last one, you had to confess your sins, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, maybe you have to be forgiven for them.” Charlie sat on the edge of the bed.

“Dean stopped me from completing the trials, he – ”

“Yes, but did he ever really forgive you? It doesn’t sound like him.” 

Sam was quiet for a moment. It was true, Dean had stopped him from completing the trials, and assured Sam that their bond had not been broken by their differences, but forgiveness? That never came easy with Dean. It was always ‘Let’s just forget about it,’ or ‘You’re my brother.’ It was always Dean accepting Sam’s mistakes out of obligation rather than understanding.

“If Dean has to forgive me to save my life, doesn’t that take some of the sincerity out of it?” Sam asked.

“I don’t think it has to be Dean who forgives you. Although, it would be a great way to mend your relationship. And for Dean to develop some communication skills.”

“Charlie, I know you forgive me for whatever mistakes I’ve made. But it wasn’t you I hurt. I don’t see how that could cure me.”

“It’s not me, either. It’s you, Sam. You have to forgive yourself.”

Now Sam was sure he was going to die.

“We just have to talk it out,” Charlie said. "You and me. I have a bit of experience with guilt, remember? And dead parents, come to think of it. Guilt over dead parents. So really, I’m the perfect person to talk to.”

“It’s so much more complicated than that, Charlie. I’ve done things – ”

“I know. I’ve read the books. So I already have a few ideas for things we should start with. Do you wanna start small and work our way up to the blood stuff?”

Sam groaned.

“I know it sucks, but this is the only idea I have right now. If it doesn’t work, you’ll get some free amateur therapy out of it. Besides, you’re supposed to be the one who likes talking about feelings.”

“More than Dean. But it’s not a hobby.”

“Hmm. The books kinda make it seem that way.” She grinned, teasing him.

Not for the first time, Sam really wanted to kill Chuck.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter this time, to make up for the super short one last time.

It was an accident. Honestly.

Dean was used to sharing a motel room with either his brother or a one-night stand, not someone with whom he was engaged in a serious, let’s-take-things-slow kind of relationship. In fact, he had never really been in one of those relationships at all. So when he stepped out of the shower in the morning and simply wrapped a towel around his waist before heading back into the main room to get some clean (ish) clothes, he didn’t realize that he would be crossing some unspoken, metaphorical boundary.

It was like Cas had said, after all: he had seen all of him. Rebuilt his body from nothing. So Dean was surprised to see the look of fascination in Castiel’s eyes as he stared openly at his exposed skin. His body wasn’t what it used to be, Dean knew – he was getting a bit pudgy, and had a few stretch marks on his hips – and he was struck with a twinge of insecurity.

But Cas’ fascination soon turned to lust.

It was oddly familiar to Dean, the way the angel looked at him in that moment. He soon realized that he had seen it in small doses many times, in glances cut short by impending mortal peril or perhaps by self-control on Cas’ part. Seeing it now was captivating and slightly unnerving. It was like hearing a different version of a favorite song.

“Dean – ” Cas started.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. He grabbed his clothes and retreated into the bathroom, worried that he was making Cas uncomfortable. He was clearly feeling _something_ , but maybe the poor guy didn’t want to feel whatever it was. Just yesterday – God, was that really yesterday? – he had expressed fear about diving into whatever this was. The last thing Dean wanted to do was freak him out even more.

Dean was startled to realize that Cas had followed him into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry for staring. I was just… unprepared.”

Dean set his clothes down and turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “It’s alright, man. Sorry for making it awkward.”

“You didn’t make it awkward.” Castiel paused, initiating the kind of intense eye contact that usually made Dean squirm. “You’re beautiful.”

Dean looked at the floor.

“You truly are. You may not be used to that term being applied to males, but it certainly is accurate in this case.”

“Thanks, Cas. But can’t you come up with something a little more…”

“Arbitrarily masculine?” He smiled. “You have a very attractive physique. Many people would find you to be a suitable mate, especially based on the size and strength of your arms.”

“You give some weird compliments, dude.”

“Perhaps you should have settled for ‘beautiful.’”

Dean hadn’t noticed either of their voices getting progressively lower in both volume and tone over the course of the conversation. Nor did he notice that Cas had been moving closer to him. Was Cas trying to _seduce_ him? He hadn’t really thought Cas had the tact.

When Cas moved in for a kiss, Dean was even more surprised. It definitely wasn’t like their previous kisses. This one had more weight behind it, more determination. So maybe Cas was feeling less afraid?

Or maybe it wasn’t physical intimacy Cas had been afraid of in the first place. Maybe that was just one of _Dean’s_ many problems. Because with women? No problem. But with a dude? Things got complicated. Cas wasn’t just some dude, but whatever sexual intimacy they would end up moving towards would be decidedly… well, gay. And how could Dean tell Cas that it wasn’t really the _gay_ part he was freaked out about, it was more the things associated with it in his mind, associations he had no control over? _Hey, Cas, I’d love to get it on, but I can’t, because my only experience with other men has been in literal hell, and I’m terrified of remembering even more than I already do, and I’d like to avoid a full-blown meltdown?_

Cas broke away from the kiss, seeming to sense that Dean’s mind was elsewhere. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

Cas frowned.

Dean thought about telling Cas that they had work to do (which was technically true), but he would probably take it as rejection (which wasn’t true at all). He wanted Cas, there wasn’t any denying that anymore. He just had to work some stuff out first… some stuff he _really_ didn’t want to work out. But he was an abysmal liar. Cas would know if he was just making something up.

“Cas, if you’re ready to take things a little… less slow... then I’m all for that. But there are some things I haven’t told you that I need you to know first.”

“Dean, I am aware that you have been intimate with a number of women. Anything you may have contracted – ”

“Whoa! No! _So_ not where I was going with that. I don’t have any STDs, dude.”

“The correct term is STI. It is common to have an infection without having a disease. There is a difference. STD is a rather outdated term.”

“Whatever. Wait, how do you know that?”

“I’ve done research. I didn’t know how fast our relationship would be moving, but I wanted to be prepared. So I used the internet to further educate myself about human sexuality.”

Dean felt an odd rush of affection for Cas at that. He’d never been with someone who would do research in order to prepare for the _possibility_ of having sex with him. Then again, he’d never been with someone (at least, not in a relationship) who was technically a different species… but he didn’t want to think too hard on that.

“Anyway,” Cas said, “what were you going to tell me?”

Dean took a deep breath. “In hell,” he began, “a lot of shit happened. I don’t remember a lot of it. But some of it I do. And one of the weapons they used against me was… they did things to me that were…” He could barely get the words out. “I never did it to anyone else. I couldn’t. It was the only thing I couldn’t do.”

“I know,” said Cas.

“What?”

“I know. I’m sorry, Dean. When I pulled you out of hell, I tried to remove those memories for you, but I had a feeling they would be too entwined with your consciousness to be fully erased.”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Cas had known all this time and had never said anything. “So what, you were just gonna let me remember everything else?”

“I tried to remove everything. But most of it was too deeply cemented. The only things I had a chance with were the things you were already trying to repress yourself.”

“Were you ever gonna mention this?”

“Absolutely not. I couldn’t risk making you remember, if you hadn’t already.”

“Well, I remember. So great job with the whole making me forget plan.”

“Dean, as I just said, I was not at all confident that it would work. I tried my best, and I am sincerely sorry for failing you _yet again_.”

If Cas’ words were meant to wound, they only did so because of the genuine self-hatred behind them. Dean sighed. “It’s okay, man. Thanks for trying.”

“Of course, Dean. I prepared for this scenario as well. According to my research, you may have PTSD – ”

Dean snorted. “Ya think?”

“Yes, well, I understand that might seem obvious, given everything you’ve been through. But what I was trying to say is that you might have more specific trauma, directly linked to experiences with sexual overtones. And I understand that it’s important to be cautious if that is the case.”

Dean was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation, but he knew it needed to happen.

“I want you to know,” Cas continued, “that our relationship does not need to be sexual.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re not that into me?” Dean asked, smirking.

“I am very ‘into you,’ Dean. In fact, you make me feel things that I have never felt in my entire existence. But while I may desire more physical intimacy than I ever thought possible, it’s certainly not necessary for a relationship.”

“Isn’t that kinda the point?”

“Sex? The point of a relationship? Not in the slightest. At least, not for me. I suppose it could be the fact that I’m not human, but quite honestly, I could spend the rest of my existence in your company and be perfectly happy with just that.”

When Cas said shit like this, Dean was reminded that he was talking to a being he would probably never fully understand. “Really?”

“I enjoy spending time with you. Nothing more is required,” Cas said. “I am very sexually attracted to you, Dean,” he added, seemingly sensing that Dean was about to reiterate his doubt. “And we can proceed however you wish. I just need you to understand that I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said quietly, looking down at his bare feet. After a short silence, he looked up at him again. “So you’re not… freaked out or anything?”

Cas tilted his head. “By what?”

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “I mean, if you thought I was damaged goods before – ”

“Dean Winchester, you are not ‘damaged goods.’ I’ve known about what you went through in hell since the moment I raised you from perdition. And that knowledge did nothing to shape the way I see you, except perhaps for forcing me to know you more intimately than you would have consented to. I would have rather allowed you the opportunity to share those experiences with me if and when you were ready, but in order to save you, I had to hold your soul inside my grace. There was no way I could have avoided learning everything I learned about you in that moment. I’m sorry for the way that it happened, sorry that you couldn’t be afforded any agency at the time, but I’m not sorry for knowing you. For knowing your soul.”

When Castiel finished, Dean was crying. He folded his arms across his bare chest, suddenly very aware that he was still wearing only a towel. Such a strong declaration of love and acceptance made him feel incredibly humbled and vulnerable, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball on the floor, or better yet, disappear into thin air. “Sorry,” he muttered, because apologizing for crying was his instinct. “I thought I could go without telling you, but – ”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Cas whispered, holding Dean’s face in his hands and wiping the tears away. A moment later, he gently tugged on his arm to lead him away from the bathroom counter and back into the main room. Dean followed. He would follow Cas anywhere.

They sat on one of the beds together, side by side, inches between them. Cas’ hand rested on Dean’s back, not moving, just a steady weight to ground him.

It was striking how far Castiel had come from being just a stoic warrior to the way he was now. He could still be terrifying, ruthless, and stubborn when he wanted to be, but he could just as easily turn into this, a gentle protector, instinctively caring (not to mention a total sap, Dean thought to himself). It was this duality, this seemingly impossible contradiction that had caught Dean’s attention so long ago, longer than he’d ever admit, and now it was what had him convinced that he was hopelessly in love.

“We both had things we didn’t tell each other,” Cas said. “And it wasn’t the first time.” There was guilt in his voice.

“It’s okay, Cas. You’re a Winchester. We fuck up. It’s what we do.”

Castiel smiled, either from being called a Winchester or a fuck-up or both. “I’m sorry we had to have this conversation in the middle of a case,” he said. “All because I couldn’t keep my eyes to myself. You would think an angel would show more restraint.”

“What can I say?” Dean flopped back on the bed. “I’m irresistible.”

“That you are.”

“Cas, for the record, I want to have sex with you. I do.” Dean was surprised he was able to say it out loud. “But like you said, I probably have some trauma or whatever, so I might be a little weird about it at first.”

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had been so open with someone, and part of him wanted to run screaming from the room, but part of him felt okay. He figured that it might be because Cas was a little clueless when it came to human customs sometimes: he didn’t know what would be considered awkward, so he wouldn’t know to judge Dean for it. And he hadn’t been dragged through the kind of macho bullshit that was practically beaten into Dean as a kid, so he wouldn’t accuse him of being unmanly or anything. Even if it was just due to Cas’ innocence, Dean knew he wouldn’t be criticized. And that felt good, even if all this emotional availability crap scared him half to death.

Cas leaned back so he was lying next to Dean. “Is this the part when we have to get up and get back to work?” He sounded genuinely bummed.

“We should probably do that. But, you know, seeing as things were totally quiet when we were there _all night_ last night, I’m guessing nothing much is gonna go down during the day.”

“Good point,” Cas said. “We’ll return to the bar at nightfall and stand watch again?”

“Yeah. And to be honest, I’m not sure if this is a case at all. I mean, maybe it’s just your run-of-the-mill serial killer. That would account for the similarities between the victims. I say if nothing goes down in the next couple of nights, we skip town, get back to Sammy.”

“Alright. But shouldn’t we be doing something besides just waiting? Don’t you usually speak with the victims’ loved ones?”

“Oh, yeah. That. Sammy’s usually the one who schedules that kinda thing.”

“I miss him, too, Dean,” Cas said with a sympathetic look. “And I know I’m no substitute for your brother.”

“You’re not quite as much of a pain in my ass. Close, though.”

“In this context, I’ll take that to be a term of endearment. Now, should we go get some work done?”

“We could do that…” Dean started.

“Or?”

“Or we could stay here for a while and make out.”

“Ten minutes?”

“Fifteen.”

“Don’t manipulate me.” Cas said, trying for his Firm Voice before diving forward to tickle Dean’s neck with kisses. Dean squirmed under him, laughing – definitely _not_ giggling.

But if he _were_ giggling, hypothetically of course, he knew Cas would love him just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. There was a duplicate chapter before, for some reason (I guess the site decided to post one chapter twice), so thanks to everyone who pointed that out. It should be fixed now.


	14. Chapter 14

Charlie and Sam made a list of everything he was feeling guilty for. Sam couldn’t even sit up enough to hold a pen and a pad of paper, so Charlie sat in the chair across from his bed and wrote things down as he talked. She had bookmarked pages in the _Supernatural_ books where she thought there might be guilt, and brought up those situations if Sam didn’t bring them up himself. After two hours, they had filled up seven pages with things Sam needed to forgive himself for.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” he said for the hundredth time.

“I don’t either. But it’s what we’ve got right now. Even if it doesn’t, I still want you to do it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a good person. And you don’t deserve to walk around thinking you’re a bad person.”

“Okay, but – ”

“That kid Kevin that was staying here? Dean told me he’s back with his mom. Because even though you could use his help right now, you didn’t want to drag him into this any more than you already did. You wanted him and his mom to stay safe. That doesn’t sound like you’re a bad person to me.”

“Dean didn’t want him to go. We really do need him, but he wants to go to college…”

“And you of all people know how hard it is to do things for yourself when everyone else is telling you it’s the wrong thing. Just think, he might end up going to college because you told him it was alright to do something he wants to do.”

“But what if it’s not the right thing? What if – ”

“What if the world ends when he’s away? Then it has to be his decision whether or not he comes back. And whatever he’d choose, I’m sure he’d be grateful that you gave him options.”

Sam tried to muster a disapproving look. “Charlie, Dean didn’t force me back into the life.”

“I know. I mean, he didn’t literally kidnap you or anything. But according to these” – she held up a _Supernatural_ book – “he didn’t really give you much of a choice. So my point is, you’re allowed to want things for yourself. And when you tell other people they’re allowed to want things, too, that’s not a bad thing. Dean might get grumpy about it, but he’s always grumpy.”

Sam actually chuckled at that.

“Besides, I think Dean let Kevin go because he reminds him of you. I think he knows you see a younger version of yourself when you look at Kevin, and this is his way of apologizing to you. For not giving you a choice. Even if he still thinks it was the right thing. Even if you both do.”

Sam smiled at her, in awe. “How the hell do you know all this stuff?”

She shrugged. “I’m good at reading people. And you two have been doing this for so long that you can’t see past your own crap anymore. Maybe I should move in and be your full-time therapist,” she added with a smile.

Sam knew she was joking, but couldn’t help picturing what it would be like to have her around. It would be nice. And if anywhere was safe, it was the bunker. “Maybe you should,” he said. “I don’t think Dean would mind having an extra hunter around. He’s gonna need someone to do all the research for him if I don’t make it.”

“Sam Winchester! You are going to be fine! And are you serious?”

“About you moving in here? Yeah, why not? I didn’t think you’d want to, but if it’s something you’d want to do, we can talk about it.”

Her face lit up. “Are you kidding? It’s like an underground lair! It _is_ an underground lair! And I can meet Cas, and we can have movie marathons.”

Sam laughed. “Good. Cas needs to watch some movies. He doesn’t get half of Dean’s references.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, pointing to the cover of the book she was holding. “What’s up with that? I don’t know if I could date someone who hasn’t seen _Star Wars_.”

“You’d better not use that word in front of Dean,” Sam said.

“What, ‘date’?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s something he’s ready to say yet. And especially if you’re going to live here, you have to give him enough room to be himself, even if he’s being ridiculous. If you try to push things between him and Cas, he’ll resent you for it.”

“Yeah. He’ll probably start acting all passive aggressive and saying, ‘No, everything’s fine,’ in that I’m Dean And I’m Angry voice, and then he’ll storm off or something.”

“Man, it’s weird how accurate that is.”

“Well, Carver Edlund – or Chuck, or whoever – is a good writer. A good prophet? Let’s not get into that. My head always hurts when I think about that meta stuff.”

“Try living it,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes.

“There’s the snark! You must be feeling better.”

Sam thought about it for a moment, and yeah, he did feel a bit better. He just didn’t want to get his hopes up too much. If he died like this, he knew it would scar Charlie even more than they had already scarred her, and Dean… he just hoped Dean would find a way to be okay. He had Cas now – well he’d always had Cas, but now he really _had_ him – so that was something.

That was something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another super long hiatus, and thanks for sticking around. I'm graduating from college next weekend so I will be able to write more.
> 
> And yeah, I decided to make this an AU where Kevin lives because Sam tells him to go to college.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't avoid the plot forever.
> 
> Trigger warning for casual transphobia.

Dean and Cas went to speak to the first two victims’ families that afternoon. Cas was getting much better at being an FBI agent, and luckily he was alright at the empathetic crap that Dean sometimes found difficult when he just wanted to get a case over with. After two very awkward conversations, they had a possible vengeful spirit suspect, a man named Nick who had been friends with all the victims. He had disappeared over a year ago, and was found dead weeks later in the Pine Ridge area where he had been on a hiking trip. His girlfriend, Tammy, was still living in Lincoln.

They had their badges out when they knocked on the door of Tammy’s apartment, but before Dean could say anything, she just opened the door and said, “Come in. I’m Tammy. I heard you were in town.”

“Excuse me?” Dean said, even as he and Cas both followed her inside.

Tammy sat down in a chair in the living room and gestured for Dean and Cas to sit on the couch, so they did. She was a tall girl with a short haircut, and Dean tried not to think about the fact that she looked a lot like Meg Masters, only with brown hair. “I heard you were here. Rob’s mom called to tell me you were on your way over. Can I get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I think we’re okay. Is it alright if we ask you a few questions about Nick?” Dean said.

“Nick? Not Rob, or Daniel, or Leo?”

“We’d be interested in any information you have about them as well,” Cas said. “But we’d like to start with Nick. We feel his case may be related to the recent homicides.”

“Well, I don’t know how you’d figure that. He went for a hike and never came back. When they found him, he had already been dead for a while. They say he slipped and fell, broke his leg, and couldn’t get to any food or water. But I’m sure you know that. It’s all in the report.”

“And how would you say your relationship was?” Dean asked.

“It was fine,” she said. “When we were still looking for him, I found out he had started a line of credit with a jewelry store. I think he was going to propose to me. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t think he had run away. The cops thought maybe he’d just left me, you know? But that didn’t seem right. I knew he was going to be on that trip.”

“Was he acting strange at all before he left? You know, like he was scared of something?” Dean asked.

“He wasn’t really himself those last few days,” Tammy said, and Dean and Cas gave each other a meaningful look. “He wasn’t scared, just upset. He had been fighting with his friends over something, and he wouldn’t talk to me about it. That wasn’t like him.”

“And by ‘his friends’ you mean Rob…” Cas said.

“…Danny, and Leo, yes,” she continued. “They used to go out drinking every Saturday, but they didn’t go for a few weekends. Nick seemed pretty bothered about it. They were actually supposed to go on that trip with him. When they dropped out, he said he wanted to go by himself. I knew it was a bad idea.”

“Any idea what the fight was about?” Dean asked.

“To be honest, I think it had something to do with me. We were getting pretty serious, and I don’t think his friends liked me very much. That would explain why Nick didn’t want to talk to me about it.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you, Tammy?” Cas asked, but something about the way he spoke made Dean think Cas already knew the answer.

“They just didn’t think I was right for him, I guess,” she said with a shrug.

Cas gave Dean a look, but Dean wasn’t sure what it meant.

“The information we have says that Nick was cremated. Is that correct?” Dean asked.

“Yes…” she said. “The remains they found were so badly decomposed…” For the first time in the interview, Tammy seemed upset. “His parents and I decided it would be best. What’s the point of putting someone in a casket if they don’t even look like themselves?”

Dean sighed. It was just occurring to him that if everything was really that badly decomposed, there still could be parts of Nick out in Pine Ridge that weren’t recovered. Hell, maybe a coyote dragged off an entire arm. But that didn’t seem like an appropriate question to ask the girlfriend, even a year later. He could just get a copy of the coroner’s report. “Do you have anything that belonged to Nick?” he asked. “Something that was really important to him, maybe?” At this point, Dean knew he didn’t sound like an FBI agent anymore, but he needed the info.

“You don’t think someone killed Nick, do you? It was an accident. He fell.”

“All the information we have at this point says that it was an accident,” said Cas. “We just have to cover all our bases.”

Dean tried not to smirk at the line that Cas had so clearly learned from him. “Yeah. Speaking of which, what can you tell us about the more recent victims? They were all friends of Nick’s, correct?”

“Yeah,” said Tammy. “They were all dicks.”

“They were?” Dean was surprised to hear someone be so candid. Usually the person he interviewed would have a speech prepared about how normal and nice the victim was, a real Pillar of the Community.

“Yeah. I mean, I think they were well liked enough. But they were assholes, you know? They drank too much and talked shit about women, and then turned around and wondered why Nick was the only one with a girlfriend.”

“So it wasn’t just that Nick’s friends didn’t like you. The feeling was mutual,” Cas said.

“Well, yeah. But obviously, I didn’t kill them. I mean, I was out with my girlfriends the night Rob got killed. I don’t exactly have an alibi for the other two, but just because you don’t get along with someone doesn’t mean you want them dead.”

Dean tried to detect guilt or nervousness in Tammy’s voice, but found nothing. She seemed sincere. Maybe the guys really were just dicks. And that would explain why a vengeful spirit might be after them. Maybe Nick went vengeful because he died so soon after his fight with them. But what, exactly, warranted their deaths for him? Sprits didn’t usually go vengeful over spilled milk. The fight had to have been over something huge.

“So, the place all three of them disappeared from. Ace’s Sports Bar. Did they go there often? With Nick?” Dean tried to sound casual, but he knew it might seem odd to bring Nick up again. Tammy would probably take it as a sign that they were trying to pin guilt on her.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s where they would go every weekend. It was their guys’ night or whatever.”

That might explain why Nick could show up there even though he died miles away: a deep emotional connection to the place. But why wasn’t there any ectoplasm showing up? It didn’t quite fit. Dean could feel a headache coming on.

He got permission from Tammy to search her house (just procedure, he assured her) and left Cas to stay with her and ask some follow-up questions. Dean did a thorough search of common places for hex bags and other witchy things, just in case, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. No cat skulls. No sage, no infant femurs, no giant books written in Latin and bound in human skin. No ectoplasm, either. No sulfur. No human remains in the refrigerator (and only one pack of ground beef – not enough to satisfy a transforming rugaru). Tammy didn’t seem to be anything more than Nick’s girlfriend.

He didn’t even get any weird vibes from the apartment. It wasn’t messy, but it was lived in, not operating-room-sterile like some of the places Dean had done interviews in before. With all his experience, Dean had learned that if the house was a total wreck, that could be a sign of a monster that doesn’t care enough to pick up after itself, but if things were too spotless, that could be bad news too. Some monsters think they’d fit in better if they look all Stepford. But Tammy’s place just looked like someone lived there and didn’t have time to constantly clean. Fair enough.

Dean gave her his card, and he and Cas left.

As soon as they were in the elevator, Dean asked about all Cas’ meaningful looks.

“This may or may not be relevant to the case,” Cas said, “but Tammy was incorrectly gendered at birth.”

“Wait, what? You’re saying she’s a – ”

“I have a feeling that whatever you’re about to say is offensive, so I would suggest using some restraint,” Cas said sharply as they exited the elevator.

“Fine. What’s got you all puffed up, Feathers?”

“Her consciousness was easy to read. And I don’t usually go around reading people’s minds, to answer your next question. But people are dying, and I could tell that Tammy was hiding something. The things that people have said and done to her… I am generally an admirer of humanity, but there are times when I feel that it is hopeless, if only for the ways you treat one another.”

They walked to the car in silence, and Dean tried to make sense of Cas’ words. What did this have to do with the case?

Once in the car, Cas spoke again. “She’s human. But I’m guessing you gathered that from your search of the apartment.”

Dean pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot and onto the main road to head back to the motel. “Yeah. Didn’t see anything weird.”

“She didn’t say it when you asked her, but she thinks the fight Nick had with his friends was because one of them may have found out about her and told the others. And they probably didn’t approve of the relationship for that reason.”

“Did Nick know?”

“Yes, Nick knew. I think perhaps his death might have involved foul play after all.”

“So you think that…”

“Nick’s friends found out that Tammy had been raised as a boy, and when Nick defended her, they killed him.”

“Well that’s ten kinds of fucked up. Does Tammy think that’s what happened?”

“No. She truly believes that those men wouldn’t have hurt Nick. She thinks it really was an accident. Although, now, she might start to wonder. Thanks to us.”

“Well, your mind reading comes in handy,” Dean said. “Maybe you should use it more often.”

“Only when people are in danger,” Cas said. “It’s an invasion of privacy I don’t need to commit otherwise. Besides, the memories I found in Tammy’s mind are enough to make me think twice before I read someone again.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes.”

“How did they even find out? I mean, I couldn’t even tell. She looks like a girl.”

“She _is_ a girl, Dean.”

“Okay, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I guess this is good news, huh? Because Vengeful Nick, if that’s what this is, has already killed all the guys who killed him, so no one else dies.”

“I’m not sure if it’s that simple, Dean. He’ll probably try to stay, to destroy any perceived threats to Tammy.”

“Alright, so tomorrow we go back to the bar, and the victims' families again if we have to, and find out who has something of Nick’s lying around. Then we burn it, and Nick gets to rest. And we can get back to Sammy.”

“How is he doing?”

Dean sighed. “Charlie says he’s feeling a bit better, but she won’t tell me what they’ve been doing. I have a bad feeling about it. It has to be dark magic if it’s curing him.”

“If there had been a dark magic cure, we would have come across it in our research. Maybe his body is simply recovering on its own.”

“I doubt it,” Dean muttered. “Nothing good ever happens without a price.”

“Ever the optimist,” Cas said, and put his hand on Dean’s knee.

Dean looked down at Cas’ hand, surprised by the gesture. It was so casual, like they had been together for years. In a way, maybe they had.


	16. Chapter 16

When Dean awoke the next morning, he thought he was dreaming. He was in bed with Cas, whose right arm was draped across his chest. Cas was wearing Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt, and his eyes were closed, his breathing even. The other bed was completely untouched, still made with the sheets tucked under the mattress. Dean had to replay the previous night in his head to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. No, nothing had happened. When he had been ready to go to sleep, Cas had been reading at the table, and Dean asked if he’d rather read in bed. That led to a conversation about the proper clothes for relaxing in, never mind if angels couldn’t actually sleep –

Wait. If angels couldn’t sleep, then… “Cas?” Dean said quietly.

“Mmm,” came the reply.

“Were you sleeping?”

“Angels don’t sleep,” Cas said patiently (they had, after all, just discussed this) and with none of the morning raspiness that was present in Dean’s own voice. “I was meditating.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Cas opened his eyes, and Dean only narrowly suppressed a sharp intake of breath. They were just so _blue_.

“It’s alright,” Cas said. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Mornin’.”

Dean marveled at the weight of Cas’ arm on his chest, the way it made him feel safe rather than burdened. He moved his own arm so that it was on top of Cas’, and slotted their fingers together.

“Did you sleep well?” Cas asked.

“Yeah.” When it felt somewhat odd to not return the question, he added, “How was your, uh, meditation?”

“Good. I tend to feel better afterward. Recharged, so to speak. As I said last night, it’s the angel equivalent of sleep, only not quite necessary for survival. I’m sure that some angels seldom do it at all, but I find it useful. Perhaps it has something to do with the condition of my grace.”

“What do you mean?”

Cas gave him a fond look that seemed to be laced with a bit of sympathy as well, as though he thought Dean was being naïve. “My grace has been through a substantial amount of trauma. It has been destroyed and recreated, suffocated by the souls from purgatory and by the Leviathan. And in many ways, I have fallen, although I have retained most of my angelic abilities. It is a wonder my grace is still intact.”

Dean briefly imagined angelic grace going through a blender. Maybe with some dirt and blood and gravel mixed in. His stomach tightened.

He didn’t know why he felt surprised. It made sense. Cas had chosen free will, forfeiting his Angel Card. Just because he got to hold on to some of the perks didn’t mean he was still a member of the club. Still, Dean couldn’t help feeling guilty. He wasn’t exactly sorry for the way things had turned out – he was too selfish for that – but he was sorry for whatever pain Cas might have experienced.

Cas sighed. “I suppose we should get up. We have work to do. Would you like me to get you some coffee from the lobby?”

“Sure. Thanks, Cas.”

An hour later, Dean and Cas exited the motel wearing their suits, fake FBI badges tucked inside. As they crossed the parking lot, Dean spotted something suspicious, and stopped. “Two o’clock, Cas,” he muttered. “Don’t be obvious about it.”

Cas looked slightly to his right, then back down at the asphalt, clearly trying to act casual. He turned to face Dean. “Hmm.”

 _Hmm_ was right. Tammy was watching them from her car, which was parked in the farthest corner spot on the far side of the lot. Although she was wearing a beanie and dark sunglasses, Dean could still tell it was her. A green Ford station wagon wasn’t exactly a common vehicle, and Dean remembered it from the police reports about Nick, pictured parked at the trailhead where Nick was last seen before he was found dead. Tammy was pretending to do something on her cell phone, but every few seconds, her eyes would flick up to Dean and Cas. She didn’t seem to know she had been spotted.

“Who knows how long she’s been following us,” Cas remarked.

Dean shook his head. “I would’ve noticed if she followed us here last night. And I would hope you would’ve noticed, too.”

“Based on the fact that nothing seemed out of the ordinary at her apartment, I don’t think we were on high alert yesterday. Perhaps we should have been.”

“I still don’t think she’s dangerous. Especially not out here, in broad daylight. Let’s just go talk to her. Maybe she knows something.”

Cas looked unconvinced, but nodded and started walking with Dean towards Tammy’s car.

When she saw them approaching, she seemed to panic a little. First she froze, as if unsure if Dean and Cas were really walking towards her. As they got closer, she tossed her phone into the passenger seat and fumbled with the keys, trying to jam them into the ignition. But at some point, she seemed to change her mind. She pulled her sunglasses off in resignation. Dean tapped on the window, and she rolled it down.

“Hey there,” Dean said, trying for a tone that was both businesslike and friendly. “Why are you tailing us?”

Tammy sighed and stared straight ahead, out the windshield. “You guys aren’t cops. Or FBI agents, or whatever. You can’t be.”

“Why is that?” Dean asked.

“Because when Nick died, his parents tried for months to get the police to keep investigating. They didn’t believe it was an accident. They thought maybe…” She shook her head, like she was shaking away a bad thought. “The police wrapped everything up pretty quick, and never looked back. Why would they suddenly be interested now?”

“Maybe because two guys he was close friends with just turned up dead, and another one’s missing?” Dean offered.

Tammy looked between Dean and Cas. She had tears in her eyes, but blinked them away. And she didn’t look sad. Almost frustrated. “How does this work? Do I need to say a code word or something before you can be honest with me? Or is everything classified regardless?”

“What would be classified?” Dean asked.

Tammy was quiet for a minute, as if deciding whether or not to let the conversation continue on this particular path. Then she took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to say something, and if you think I’m crazy, then that’s fine.”

Dean had been doing this long enough to understand – Tammy really did know something. And it was something supernatural, something she was too afraid to mention yesterday.

“Sometimes, I see Nick,” Tammy said. “And I know you’re probably thinking it’s just grief, but it’s not. If it was grief making me see him, wouldn’t he talk to me? Wouldn’t he touch me? Wouldn’t my hallucinations actually make me happy, if they were hallucinations?”

“How long have you been experiencing this?” Cas asked.

“Since he died. But it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

Dean and Cas exchanged a look.

“There’s a diner down the street,” Dean said. “How about we buy you lunch? We got a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I haven't updated this in over a year, and for that I am SO SORRY. I will try to be better. I'm still committed to finishing this.


	17. Chapter 17

Tammy didn’t talk much while she ate her fries, except to ask Dean to pass her a ketchup bottle from another table. Dean had asked her about seven times if she wanted something more substantial, but she insisted on just the plate of fries. Luckily, Tammy didn’t seem to mind that Dean was dripping burger juice down his wrist as he ate. Cas sat on the same side of the booth with Dean, and stared across the table at Tammy with concern. 

“You seem to be adjusting quickly,” he noted.

Tammy had been given the speech about monsters and hunters. She simply asked a few clarifying questions and nodded at the answers. “I’ve been adjusting for months,” she pointed out. “I only thought I was hallucinating the first few times I saw him, but at some point I realized it was really happening. I guess I’d already accepted it. I just can’t believe he’s hurting people. I mean, like I said, I was never a fan of his friends. But he loved them. He never would’ve done this.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “It’s not really him. It’s a distorted version of him.”

“And you’re sure you don’t have anything that he could be anchored to?” Dean asked. “One of his shirts, anything like that?”

She shook her head. “I let his parents take his clothes. It was too painful to have them in the apartment. I have a box of things that he gave me. Just stuff from our relationship. Like some movie stubs, a couple of rocks from where we used to walk at Holmes Lake, some cute little drawings he made me. Could he be anchored to any of that?”

“It’s unlikely,” said Cas. “But we’ll need to check them just in case.”

Tammy nodded. “That’s fine.” She played with a fry on the edge of her plate, twirling it through a glob of ketchup. “And if you guys find out what’s keeping him here, and you fix it, he’ll… leave?”

“Yes,” said Cas. “He will move on.”

“To heaven? You said you were an angel, right? So there’s a heaven.”

Cas hesitated.

“Yes, he’s an angel, and yes, there’s a heaven,” Dean said with his mouth full. After a reproachful look from Cas, he swallowed before beginning his next sentence. “But to be honest, we don’t really know where Nick’s spirit will end up.” Sauce dripped down Dean’s chin, and Cas handed him a napkin.

Tammy looked back and forth between them. “How long have you two been together?”

Dean felt a familiar, unwanted rush of shame. Tammy clearly wasn’t being judgmental, but Dean was still uncomfortable with strangers knowing something about him that he had kept a secret - even from himself - for so long.

“We have known each other for quite some time,” Cas replied with a slight smile. “But our first kiss was just over 60 hours ago.”

“Too much information, Cas,” Dean muttered. 

Tammy just smiled back at Cas. “Is that why you’re here on Earth? Because of him?” She nodded her head toward Dean.

“Yes,” said Cas.

Dean felt his face get hot. He knew that really, the complete reasons for Cas’ presence on Earth were far more complicated and had far greater magnitude. But when he thought about it, it had always come down to him, albeit in different ways at first. He didn’t see any need to bore Tammy with the details, though.

“Let’s get back on topic, please,” he said. “If you’re alright with us coming over to your place again, Cas can look at that box you were talking about, just to make sure it checks out. And hopefully we can get this figured out tonight so no one else gets hurt.” As much as Dean genuinely wanted to solve this case and prevent more deaths, he also wanted to get back to Sam as soon as possible. Tammy was a nice enough person, but for Dean it felt wrong to be helping a stranger when his own brother was in such bad shape. Every hour that went by without a text from Charlie was agonizing.

Dean and Cas got into the Impala and followed Tammy back to her apartment. Dean couldn’t help feeling a little pessimistic as he stared at the back of her station wagon, trying not to tailgate her (she drove much slower than he liked to). If there was nothing wrong with the items she had leftover from her relationship with Nick, then how would they ever find out what was keeping him from moving on? The worst case scenario, Dean thought, would be that not all of Nick’s remains were found, and therefore not all of him was cremated. Then it would be pretty much hopeless...

“What are you thinking about?” Cas asked from the passenger seat. Dean had almost forgotten he was there.

“How the hell we’re gonna get Nick’s spirit to move on. If none of the objects in that box are being haunted, there’s not much we can do. I mean, I have one idea, but it’s a long shot.”

Cas waited patiently for an explanation.

“I’ve worked a couple of cases before where the spirit was tied to a person. It’s possible that Nick is actually tied to Tammy.”

Cas nodded. “If his death had something to do with his friends’ intolerance, he might feel as though she is still in danger, as we suspected.”

“And then we’d have to get Tammy to talk to him, and try to convince him that she doesn’t need his protection.”

Cas considered this for a moment. “She seems to be a level-headed person. She knows it’s not really him, not anymore.”

As they pulled into the parking lot of Tammy’s apartment complex, Dean got a call from the local police station. They had briefly visited the station on their first day in town (as FBI agents, of course), just to pick up the official reports and let the police chief know they’d be investigating in town, and Dean had told them to give him a call with any new developments.

“We’ve got some bad news,” the chief said. “A hiker found Leo in the woods. He’s dead.”

Dean shared the news with Cas, but decided not to tell Tammy, on the off-chance it would upset her. They needed her completely focused to convince Nick to move on. 

Tammy’s box of momentos - a few small, round stones, a stack of photographs, some pressed flowers, movie ticket stubs, and little drawings of animals on post-it notes - turned out to be harmless. Tammy made tea in the kitchen while Dean and Cas sat on the couch, Cas going through the items one by one, holding them to determine if they contained any negative energy. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Dean went over the box with an EMF meter just in case, which earned an eye roll from Cas. “I am far more powerful than your device, Dean.”

“Hey, you said yourself that a spirit could hide itself from you if it was powerful enough.”

“Yes, a  _ spirit _ . These are objects. They are not sentient and therefore cannot hide.”

“Alright, you two,” Tammy interrupted. She set two mugs of tea down on the table - one for her, and one for Cas, who had recently developed a liking for herbal tea. Cas took a sip immediately, despite the fact that the mug was steaming, frowned, and took another sip. Dean thought he was probably letting his mouth and tongue get burned and just healing himself as he drank. He considered telling him to knock it off, but Tammy spoke first.

“What’s our next move?”

Dean explained the situation. Once again, Tammy listened calmly and seemed relatively unfazed by the news that she would have to be the one to confront Nick. Her only response was, “What should I tell him?” 

Dean hesitated. Did she know how much they knew about her? He decided to err on the side of caution and not mention any specific details about the reason Nick was likely killed. “Since we think he’s trying to protect you, you have to tell him that’s not what you want. He needs to know that you’re okay, and that he doesn’t need to stick around. And hopefully that’s all he needs to hear.”

“How do I talk to him? Just wait until he shows up?”

“Hopefully we won’t have to wait,” said Dean. “He’ll probably come if you call to him, especially if he’s tied to you.”

“Will you guys stay with me?” Tammy seemed a little more nervous now.

“Of course,” said Cas. “Although we will have to remain out of sight while you speak to him, because he will likely perceive us as a threat.”

“The hall bathroom would be the best place for us to wait,” Dean explained. “So if you need help, we’ll be right around the corner.”

Tammy took a deep breath. “Okay. Are we doing this now?”

“The sooner the better,” said Cas. “We don’t know when he’ll try to hurt someone else.”

Cas stayed with Tammy while Dean got some weapons from the car. Tammy raised her eyebrows when Dean returned with a shotgun and two iron bars. “The shells are filled with salt,” Dean explained, holding up the gun. “But I’m not planning on having to use it.” He placed one of the bars on the table and handed the other one to Cas. “If Nick comes at you, you’re gonna swing this right through him, and he’ll disappear for a few minutes. Just call for us if you need backup. Got it?”

Tammy nodded, still stoic as ever.

Dean and Cas went into the hall bathroom and closed the door most of the way. Dean stood closest to the door, shotgun in hand, ear close to the door so he could hear what was going on in the living room. Cas leaned back against the counter. For a few moments, it was quiet. Then they heard Tammy speak.

“Nick? It’s me. Can I talk to you for a minute? I want to see you.”

Another moment of silence.

“Please? I could really use your help.”

Dean heard the telltale sound of a spirit materializing, and his heartbeat quickened.

“Hey,” Tammy said, and Dean thought he heard her voice break a little. “I need you to listen to me. I know you’ve been hurting people, and I know you’re doing it for me. But I don’t want that, okay? I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Whatever they said to you, it’s time to let it go. I’m okay, Nick. I miss you every single day, but I’m okay. And I need  _ you _ to be okay.”

When he heard Tammy’s sharp intake of breath, Dean put his hand on the doorknob, ready to throw it open. 

“It’s time to go now,” Tammy said, definitely crying now. “It’s time to go.”

There was a crackling sound, and Dean burst into the hallway, only to see Nick’s spirit disintegrating into gold light. Tammy turned and smiled at Dean through her tears. “I think it worked. Did it work?”

“It appears to have worked, yes,” said Cas from behind Dean. “I felt him go.”

“But we’ll stick around for awhile, just in case,” Dean added, scanning the room. Yes, the gold light seemed like a good indicator that Nick had successfully moved on, but he couldn’t help feeling it had been far too easy.

Tammy wiped her tears. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“No need to apologize,” Cas said, approaching her and placing his iron bar down on the table next to the other one. “I’m sure this has been very difficult for you. You’ve handled it well.”

“He touched me,” she said. “He touched my hand before he went. That’s okay, right?”

“Should be fine,” Dean said. “He didn’t try to hurt you?”

She smiled sadly and shook her head, still crying. Cas put his hand on Tammy’s shoulder, and she pulled him into a hug. He looked surprised, but patted her back.

The three of them spent the next few hours in relative silence, watching game shows on TV. They kept the iron and shotgun closeby, but after two episodes of  _ Deal or No Deal _ , Dean felt fairly confident that Nick wasn’t going to return. He even felt comfortable enough to put his arm around Cas as they sat on the couch. Cas didn’t say or do anything in response, but Dean thought he seemed more relaxed. Maybe it was just his imagination.

Dean called the police station and told the chief that he and his partner had been assigned to another case, and that they would be leaving the rest of the investigation to local law enforcement. Especially with multiple families involved, this was one of those times where he really wished he could tell the truth about how the victims had died. But it was too risky. The case would have to officially remain unsolved, and eventually go cold.

When it started getting dark outside, Dean told Tammy, “If you’re, uh, doing okay, then I think we’re gonna head out soon. We have another case we need to get to.” Technically that was a lie, but Dean didn’t want to explain what was happening with Sam.

“This might sound crazy,” Tammy said, “But I actually… feel better? Like the clouds have lifted or something.”

“Vengeful spirits can carry a great deal of negative energy,” Cas told her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Nick’s presence had been affecting you.”

“Well, I hope he’s in… a better place,” she said.

“Us too,” said Dean.

Tammy thanked them and insisted on hugs as they got up to leave. Dean gave her his real phone number (as opposed to the fake FBI phone number she had before), and made her promise to call if anything weird happened. “And everything we told you? That  _ is _ kinda ‘classified,’ like you said earlier. Need-to-know basis. So don’t go telling everybody.”

Tammy agreed. “If you’re ever in Lincoln again, give me a call,” she said. “And I expect to be invited to your wedding!” she added, gesturing at the two of them.

Dean just gave a nervous chuckle, but Cas said, in his typical deadpan, “We’ll make sure you’re on the list.” It was far too soon for Cas to have that kind of nonchalant response, Dean thought, but he didn’t say anything about it. 

Once they were back in the Impala and on the way back to their motel, Cas remarked, “That was not as difficult as I had expected.”

“Yeah, seems like we caught a break for once. You good to head back home tonight?”

“Of course. I know you’re anxious to see Sam.” Cas was quiet for a minute, and then said, “I know this was an easy hunt, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed spending time with you.”

“Me, too, Cas. But hopefully Sam will heal up quick, so you won’t have to come on any more hunts.”

“What if I  _ want _ to come with you?”

Dean smirked. “Well, I guess I can’t stop you, then.”


	18. Chapter 18

Once they were all packed up and back on highway 80, Dean took out his cell to call Charlie.

“Let me,” Cas said, holding out his hand. Dean handed over the phone, giving Cas a questioning look. “It’s unsafe to make calls while driving,” Cas said, and Dean rolled his eyes. Cas was also tempted to comment on Dean’s current speed, which was 90 mph, but he thought it best to say nothing on this particular subject. All his past attempts at getting Dean to drive slower had been fruitless, and especially considering how worried he was about Sam, it was unlikely that Dean would change this habit now.

Cas turned down the stereo, which was playing something he thought might be Aerosmith (he wouldn’t have bet on it, though - Dean always made fun of his inability to distinguish between various rock groups). He found Charlie’s number in the contacts list and dialed. After a few rings he got her voicemail. He hesitated slightly, because he didn’t know Charlie, but decided to leave a message. “Hello. This is Castiel. Dean and I are on our way, and wanted to check on you and Sam. So...  please call Dean.” He hung up and looked at Dean, wondering if he found this voicemail acceptable. What he saw on Dean’s face was thinly veiled stress.

“I’m sure she just forgot to charge her phone, Dean,” he said.

“I heard it ring. If it was dead, it would’ve gone straight to voicemail.” His knuckles clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel. “Try Sam’s phone.”

Cas obeyed, and got the same result - three rings and Sam’s voicemail. “Sam? Call us when you get this.” The worry in Dean’s eyes only became more apparent. Cas watched the speedometer creep up to 95. “Can we track their phones?” he asked, trying to be helpful.

“Not if they’re in the bunker,” Dean said, his jaw tight. “GPS signals are blocked.”

“Oh. Well, they must be there,” Cas thought aloud. “Where else could they be?”

Dean didn’t answer. 

The car ride was tense. Dean didn’t even bother to turn the stereo back up, which told Cas just how distracted he was. Cas held Dean’s phone in his hand the whole way, his palm getting uncharacteristically sweaty. But the phone never rang. Every half hour or so, Dean would say, “Try them again,” and Cas would, but neither Sam nor Charlie ever answered. Cas grew increasingly concerned as time went on, and couldn’t prevent horrible scenarios from running through his mind. What if there had been an assault on the bunker? What if Sam and Charlie had somehow been kidnapped by a demon, or a rogue angel, or something else? What if Sam had taken a turn for the worse and Charlie didn’t have the heart to tell Dean? Cas forced that thought down as soon as he had it. Sam would be fine. He had to be.

The drive, which normally would’ve taken two and a half hours, only took about an hour and forty-five minutes thanks to Dean’s speeding. They pulled up to the bunker around ten thirty at night, and Dean was through the front door so fast that Cas had to jog to keep up.

“SAM? SAMMY?” Dean rushed down the stairs with Cas right behind him. “CHARLIE?” There was no answer, but there was a bang from somewhere in the bunker that sounded like a gunshot. They shared an anxious glance and rushed down the hall.

Another gunshot boomed, the sound slightly muffled by the walls. It seemed to be coming from the firing range. Dean burst through the door with Cas at his side. They found Sam and Charlie with handguns drawn and pointed at targets. Both had ear protection on. Charlie fired a shot into her target’s head and punched the air in victory. Then she noticed Dean and Cas standing in the doorway.

“Oh my god!” she said, removing her ear protection. “You’re back!”

Sam, _who was standing upright, looking completely fine_ , fired a shot into his target, then turned and gave a little jump when he saw Dean and Cas.

“Crap,” he said, and slid his ear protection off his head to let it rest around his neck. “Were you – ”

“ – trying to call you?! Uh, _yeah_. We thought you were dead!”

Charlie looked nervously back and forth between them.

Sam smiled sheepishly and put his gun down. “Well, I’m not dead. I’m feeling much better, actually. Almost at 100 percent.”

“That’s great to hear, Sam,” Cas said, not without sincerity. It was great to see him looking so well. He did feel a twinge of irritation, too, over being so worried for no reason, but it was clearly nothing compared to what Dean was feeling.

“That’s _it_?” Dean said, raising his voice. “Cas and I spent the whole drive over here thinking something had happened to you two, and you’re just – just – in here _shooting things_?”

“It’s my bad,” said Charlie, stepping between Dean and Sam. “I should’ve texted you when he started feeling better, but we were just so excited, and then we made grilled cheese, and then we wanted to have target practice, and I should’ve texted you first, but I forgot, and then we must’ve left our phones in the kitchen.” All of this came out in a rush, without any pauses. “I’m sorry, you guys,” she added.

Dean still looked upset, but some of the tension seemed to have slid out of his posture.

“Also, hi!” Charlie said, and stepped toward Cas with an awkward little wave. “I’m Charlie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cas, glad for the change of topic, held out his hand. Charlie shook it with a grin. “Yes,” he said, “I’ve heard a lot about you as well. Dean and Sam speak very highly of you.”

She blushed and looked at the floor. “Somehow I have a feeling Dean won’t be doing that anymore.”

Cas glanced at Dean, who was standing with his arms crossed, wearing a stoic expression. “Dean always forgives his family,” Cas assured her. “And I know he regards you as such.”

Dean’s expression softened slightly, and his arms dropped to his sides. “Well, hey, everybody’s alive. Just don’t ever do that again, either of you.”

Both Charlie and Sam’s guilty expressions changed to relief. Sam cleared his throat and said, “How was the hunt?”

“I need a beer,” Dean said. “Or ten beers. Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

Talking about the hunt appeared to make Dean feel better. Cas sat next to him at the kitchen table while he drank his beer and relayed the story of the hunt to Sam and Charlie (leaving out, of course, any parts about sharing a bed with Cas or slapping his ass in front of motel clerks). Sam and Charlie each had a beer as well, and sat across from Dean and Cas, listening intently.

When Dean was finished, Charlie was the first to speak. “Her boyfriend becomes a killer ghost and she’s just like, ‘Tell me what I need to do?’ Wow. Badass.”

“She did great. I think she’d make a good hunter.”

“Did you tell her that?” Charlie asked. 

Dean shook his head. “Enough people get dragged into this life. If she wakes up one day and decides she wants to be a hunter, she has my number. But I didn’t want it to be my idea. It has to be hers.”

There was a pause, and when Dean seemed to realize that everyone was deep in thought about his words, he abruptly changed the subject. “So what happened, Sam, did you just magically get better?”

It was Sam and Charlie’s turn to explain what the past couple of days had entailed for them. Dean’s raised his eyebrows when he learned what the magic cure had been. “That sounds… You don’t really think that worked, do you?”

Sam shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think it worked."

“It makes sense, Dean,” Cas said. “Perhaps the act of confession itself was incomplete without forgiveness.”

“Well, I hope you pay Charlie for being your damn therapist,” Dean said with a smirk.

Soon, Sam and Charlie excused themselves to go watch _Breaking Bad_. “We’re almost at the series finale, so we can’t just _not_ watch it tonight,” Charlie said as she helped Sam clear away the empty beer bottles. On his way out of the room, Sam gave Dean a pat on the shoulder that seemed to be both an apology and a thank you. “G’night, nerds,” Dean called after them.

Once their footsteps faded, Dean and Cas sat in silence for a few moments, the florescent lights humming above them. It was not an uncomfortable silence, and Cas felt no immediate desire to break it. He found himself overcome with appreciation for so many things... Sam was alright. Dean seemed to be mostly alright now, too, though Cas could still see the weight of the past few hours in his body language. He looked tired. Even after countless years of being sleep deprived, stressed, and burdened with unimaginable responsibilities, only the possibility of losing Sam could reveal just how exhausted Dean really was.

As if on cue, Dean yawned and said, “Well, I’m ready to get some sleep.”

Cas nodded. “It’s been a long day.”

Dean got up from the table, stretching. He walked to the doorway and stopped there, turning back to look at Cas. “Uh, Cas?”

His tone implied that Cas was supposed to have done or said something, but he didn’t know what. “Yes?”

“You, uh… You coming?” 

“With you? To bed?” Cas was surprised. He had thought their relationship might need to be different now that they were back in the bunker with Sam. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Do you need me to mail you an invitation?” 

“No. A verbal invitation will suffice.”

“Well, come on, let’s go.” 

Cas didn’t bother to hide his small smile as he got up and followed Dean down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! I can't believe how long I've been working on this fic, and I really appreciate everyone who's stuck with it.


	19. Chapter 19

Once they were in his room, Dean closed the door behind them. He stripped down to just his T-shirt and boxers (apparently he was feeling less self-conscious around Cas than he had a few days ago) and collapsed on the bed with a groan. “God, I missed this mattress.” He looked up at Cas, who was still standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room. “You wanna borrow some clothes to sleep in? I mean, meditate in?”

“No thank you,” Cas said.

Dean shrugged and closed his eyes. He was so exhausted that he almost drifted off right away, but after a moment he heard rustling and opened his eyes again. Cas had his back to Dean and was taking off his clothes – first the trench coat, then the shirt, both of which he draped over the back of Dean’s desk chair. He sat down in the chair for a moment to take off his shoes and socks, then stood up again. There was something about seeing Cas’ clothes in his room that sent a ripple of contentment through Dean, with an undercurrent of desire. When Cas started to unbuckle his belt, though, Dean suddenly felt nervous, and hoped Cas hadn’t misinterpreted his invitation to come to bed with him – he wasn’t ready for anything like  _ that _ quite yet, and he’d thought they were on the same page there.

Cas pulled off his pants, folded them, and placed them on the desk chair. He seemed to sense Dean’s uncertainty, and simply sat down on the edge of the bed, looking a bit strange in his oversized white boxers. “I know that some humans take their clothes off to sleep,” he said. “I thought I would try it. Even if I’m only meditating.”

Dean thought that to anyone who didn’t know Cas, that probably would’ve sounded like a line. But he could tell from his tone that Cas wasn’t trying to flirt; there was no double meaning to his words. He just wanted to meditate with his clothes off. “Do angels wear clothes in heaven?” Dean asked, suddenly curious.

“No, only when we are in human vessels.”

“Oh.” Dean pondered this for a moment. He realized he had never asked Cas much about stuff like this. “So you don’t like wearing them?”

Cas shrugged. “I found them cumbersome at first. But I am used to them now. It’s similar to how I feel about my vessel.”

Dean felt an odd pang hearing Cas talk about his vessel in such a neutral tone; he was rather attached to it and hoped Cas wasn’t thinking of getting a new one. “You don’t like being in a vessel?”

Cas did his deep-in-thought squint. He stretched his arms out in front of him and gazed at his hands, turning them over like he was studying them. “Having such a small, definite form was strange,” he said finally. “But it doesn’t bother me now.”

Dean huffed. “How could I forget. You’re the size of the Empire State Building.”

“The Chrysler Building,” Cas corrected.

“Whatever. Would’ve burned my eyes out either way, right?”

“Yes.” Cas frowned. “Why do you ask?”

Dean felt his face flush, and he quickly looked away. “No reason.” It was easy for Dean to think of Cas in terms of his present appearance; it was the only one Dean had ever known. But sometimes Cas’ eyes flashed with something alien, and Dean felt the ancient power radiating from Cas, from his  _ vessel _ , and he was reminded that Cas was something  _ other _ , something he could never fully comprehend. “I guess I just… would’ve liked to see what you really look like.”

Cas seemed surprised to hear this. “I thought your physical attraction was to my vessel.”

“What? No. I mean, yeah, you’re… hot, Cas. But Jimmy… wasn’t? I don’t know how to explain it.” Dean wasn’t good at articulating things like this. Jimmy was Jimmy and Cas was  _ Cas _ . The difference between the two was so vast it felt impossible to put into words.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas said with a slight smile. He lay down next to Dean and folded his arms behind his head. It made him look remarkably human.

“So, how’s the no-clothes thing feel?”

There was a brief pause in which Cas considered this, with the same careful thought he seemed to apply to all of Dean’s questions, no matter how trivial they were. “It’s comfortable,” he said. “I can see why you like it.”

Dean had to force down his ever-present fear of rejection in order to roll onto his side and stretch his arm across Cas’ bare chest. Cas, of course, did not push him away. He only inched slightly closer, as if to make himself easier to reach. Dean felt safe, cared for, and protected. This sort of feeling was so rare for him that he found himself bracing for its inevitable loss; whenever anything felt right, Dean always felt instinctively that it would soon disappear.

With incredible effort, he dragged his train of thought back to the present. He had Cas in his arms. He was determined to enjoy it.

Dean woke to a hand on his shoulder. He rolled over and squinted up at Cas, who was fully dressed and standing next to the bed. “Good morning, Dean,” Cas said with a small smile. “I’m sorry to wake you, but breakfast is almost ready, and Sam said I’m not allowed to bring it to you.”

Dean could hear Charlie and Sam’s voices carrying down the hall from the kitchen, and sure enough, he could smell pancakes. “What time is it?”

“It’s… almost noon.” Cas’ tone was one of concern rather than judgment.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. His worst hangovers would push it to ten o’clock at the latest, and it wasn’t like he had a hangover today – he’d only had a few beers last night. “I’ll be right there,” he muttered. “Just let me put some clothes on.”

When Dean got to the kitchen, Sam was standing at the stove, pouring pancake batter into a pan. “There’s a stack for you,” Sam said, and nodded toward the table. Charlie was sitting there with her own stack of pancakes, a newspaper in her hands. Cas stood behind her, reading over her shoulder.

“Hey!” Charlie said brightly. “There’s a vamp nest in Springfield. Down for a road trip?”

“There’re a lot of Springfields, kid,” Dean said. “Which one?”

“Missouri,” she said. “So not too far! If you’re up to it.”

“Sounds like you think you’re going, too,” Dean remarked, and sat down across from her at the table.

“Well, yeah. They won’t stand a chance against the four of us.”

Sam sat down as well, and put a bottle of syrup in the middle of the table. “It’s up to you, Dean. If you and Cas wanna stay here, Charlie and I can go.”

Dean shook his head. “You just got healed up. You’re sure as hell not going into a vamp nest without me.” He took a bite out of his pancakes and tried not to let on how much he was enjoying them. He didn’t want Sam to get too cocky about his cooking.

“Great,” said Charlie. “So we’ll finish eating, get packed up, and head out in an hour?”

“If that’s the plan, I’m gonna need some coffee,” Dean said.

“There’s already a pot made,” said Sam. “Charlie and I were up early to go for a run, so we already had ours.”

“Voluntarily?” Dean asked, looking at Charlie.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s not my favorite thing to do, but it’s a nice day, so I thought I’d give it a shot.” She folded the newspaper and set it down so she could eat her food. “It’s not like we were running together, though. More like Sam running twenty yards ahead of me.”

“He does have mutant legs,” Dean said, earning himself a bitchface from Sam.

“Here you go, Dean,” Cas said, and set a mug of coffee down in front of him. Dean hadn’t even noticed that he’d walked away from the table. “Thanks, buddy.”

Cas smiled, but Charlie and Sam exchanged a look.

“What?

“Did you just ‘buddy’ your boyfriend?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“Whatever,” Dean said. “Just a habit.”

“I don’t mind, Dean,” Cas said, and sat down next to him.

Sam looked amused, and Charlie was practically beaming.

“Alright, alright,” Dean said. “Show’s over.”

An hour later, the trunk of the Impala was packed with three duffle bags. Cas didn’t need much, as he pointed out, so he and Dean were sharing a bag, much to the obvious delight of Sam and Charlie.

Sam started to get into the passenger seat, but seemed to think better of it. “You can have shotgun, Cas,” he said. 

“Are you sure?” Cas asked, clearly taken aback. “You do have ‘mutant legs,’ as Dean said.” 

Sam laughed. “It’s fine, I’ll take it on the way back.”

Cas thanked him and got in. Sam slid into the back seat, next to Charlie. 

“I have  _ Chamber of Secrets _ loaded up on my iPad,” she said. “And headphone splitters!”

“Didn’t you guys  _ just _ watch that the last time we met up?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, but that was like, weeks ago.”

Dean rolled his eyes and started the car.

Once they had turned onto the road that would take them to the highway, Dean rolled down his window and inhaled the afternoon air. It was warm, and the cicadas were buzzing in the oak trees. It was a comforting sound to Dean. He could remember hearing them in the summer during his childhood in Lawrence, and their singing always made him feel at home when he was on the road.

Cas was gazing out the window. Dean wondered if he was enjoying the scenery as much as he was. He reached over and put his hand palm-up on Cas’ thigh. Cas looked down and threaded his fingers through Dean’s, then turned away to look out the window again, a faint smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been with this fic since I started it back in 2014, wow, thank you. Sorry for making you wait so long and taking so many hiatuses.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! You can find me on tumblr at wingsdestiel.


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